Someone Like You
by DaeDreemer
Summary: SBN, Post-finale story. "He cannot remember when he started loving Serena van der Wooden."
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: I do not own "Gossip Girl."

**Author's Note**: Takes off from the end of 3.21, goes into post 3.22. SBN-centered.

* * *

It's at some point, between hanging up the phone and waking up the next morning; some instant in the haze of everything, the fall out of their ridiculous attempt at taming a world Serena van der Woodsen inhabits, that it occurs to him— a loose thought, mostly a wisp, a shred of not-memory: he can't remember when.

It's like trying to remember the first time he laughed in public or the first time he looked up at the sun and saw spots; he just can't.

He remembers Blair; remembers it clearly, with a precision that almost scares him: seven years old and sitting next to her during their spelling class, open workbooks and a dark pink ribbon in her hair— a broken pencil tip and the end of class approaching, a command from his father of not one more note detailing an incomplete assignment and the dread of finding no more pencils in his desk and then her sweet smile turning towards him, her whisper, "_here, I have extra" _and the way her fingers had rolled the pencil towards him. He remembers how nice and pretty and smart she was right then, how he'd loved sitting right next to her, loved being her friend, _loved_ her.

He remembers how he'd liked her before that; he'd liked how she smiled and how she knew things and how she made so much sense. But right then, with that smile and her head leaning close to his and her whispered voice, he'd _loved _her.

There's no such memory with Serena. No before and after— only _love… indistinguishable_ from like, from friend, from everything—even himself; tangled up in his memories of laughing all the time, of playing tag during recess, of ice cream dripping down the cone onto his fingers; of ruining up the knot of his tie and shoelaces that wouldn't stay tied and hiding under covers to play Pokémon and sneaking cookies from the kitchen— a mess of _him _and he—

He cannot remember when he started loving Serena van der Wooden.

And it makes him think, vaguely, that maybe_—_ him not remembering, not being able to pick a spot, a point, a thread where it began…. separate from him, _that,_ means something.

Maybe not a good something.

* * *

He doesn't think it's possible to breathe when there's no air—but that's how it feels when Serena breaks up with him; like he's suffocating but can finally breathe.

* * *

The summer stretches out in front him suddenly, startlingly open and disquietingly blank.

It takes him five weeks and three days of playing at _Chuck Bass _before he realizes it's not for him.

It feels like… work; with expectations and getting to business and _paying _and honestly, he hates work.

* * *

He figures out it's easier to just… smile and let it happen. You go to the right places, smile at the right girl, or girl_s_ if he's in the mood for that— and more often than not, it happens.

* * *

He visits his father in July. He's been extraordinarily remiss in that activity.

He writes his name into the prison log book with neatly printed letters; holds still as they wave a metal detector around him, follows at a sedate pace as he's lead to the visitor's room.

It's not a long visit; and when his Dad asks him how he's doing with his grandfather, if the man is _pressuring you into anything? _Nate feels a little bit like he's in the twilight zone; but he shakes his head, keeps his palms flat on the table and tells his father that he's been left to his own devices at Columbia.

Ten minutes later when he leaves, he can't quite say if his father was appreciative or disappointed by that.

* * *

When the call comes from Blair, her voice quiet and hard, only the barest hint of uncertainty running through it as she says of her and Serena…and Chuck, _"She keeps… asking me about… why."_ He announces that he was planning to track them down anyway, for Serena's birthday, because they're all friends and because Dan's busy with Georgina and the city's boring without them and Hampton's are full van der Bilt's and what else has he got to do…?

And after a long pause, after Blair says wryly, _"Can't manage without us, huh Archibald?" _He laughs and starts packing his bag.

* * *

.tbc.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**: I do not own "Gossip Girl."

* * *

He sees them before they see him.

He'd gotten the name of the hotel from Blair, but arrived considerably later than he'd told her to expect, despite her warning of, _"we're moving around the city so don't delay or you'll miss us." _Their location he'd gotten from the concierge, had been a bit surprised to be told they could be found at one of the hotel bars.

He wasn't sure what he was expecting, but Serena and Blair surrounded by fou—no, five guys and giggling exaggeratedly over pink martinis definitely wasn't it.

It takes him six minutes to figure out what they are doing; and he tilts his head back, smiles widely in understanding, when he finally does.

He moves away from the doorway, towards them, is two feet away and he can hear their truly horrendous southern accents and see the way Serena's twirling a strand of her bright blonde hair around one finger, the way Blair's batting those big brown eyes for all their worth. The guys they're with really can't be faulted for not noticing the details— like their familiarity with the staff and how they both keep ordering their drinks in perfectly accented French.

He's opening his mouth to say _"hey" _when Blair catches his eyes, in the middle of Serena's sentence, a blatant lie, _"I don'na leave states often…" _Blair shakes her head minutely, shoots him the tiniest, real smile and then returns her attention to the tall French guy leaning over her.

And he grins, can't not, and he keeps walking; walks right past them, all the way to the other side of the bar. There's a woman that smiles back and a barmaid that comes to take his order— and Serena's eyes that lock with his for a heartbeat— but she looks away fast, wrapped up in the game she and Blair are playing.

He watches them in amusement for the better part of half an hour; but it's not until they get up to move, two of the five guys getting up with them, that he laughs outright. They're going to _leave. _

Blair looks directly at him then and gives him a tiny smirk, before hooking her arm through Serena's and allowing the guys to lead them away.

He gets a text about ten minutes later: _ Daddy's, end of week. _And he shakes his head, smiles ruefully and buys another drink for the smiling lady that's joined him.

He doesn't text back because what's he going to do? Not go?

* * *

He arrives at the villa early. Harold and Roman had been expecting him; per Blair's instructions. They'd given him breakfast and told him to pick any room he wanted and when he was all set, they'd directed him to an outdoor merchant's festival going on a few miles away where he could find the girls, had offered him a driver to take him or a bicycle to ride.

He'd picked the bicycle.

And it's kind of the most fun he's had all summer, riding along in the countryside, under the sun, with nothing to focus on but on-coming traffic and spotting a festival— he thinks that's probably not the best recommendation for Chuck's little black book and it makes him smile.

The girls are under a tent, only three guys this time— Nate's smile widens, they're slipping.

He's off the bike and walking towards them slowly, taking in their short dresses and high-heeled sandals, loose hair and relaxed smiles. They look happy and themselves, no games today, and he doesn't really think about anything, but how _good _it is to see them.

Blair spots him first and he laughs when she turns towards him mid-sentence, switching from French to English, and putting a hand on her hip, "Oh look who showed up as instructed to… learned our lesson, did we?"

And he leans down, pulls her in for a quick hug and gives her a kiss on the cheek, "Nice to see you too, Blair…"

She puts a hand to his arm, rolls her eyes, "_Nice_ to know you can follow a schedule, _Nate._" And then she makes a face, lifts her hand and wipes it on the sleeve of his t-shirt, "You're sweaty…"

"I rode a bicycle!" He announces a little gleefully.

"You what?"

"Your Dad lent it to me."

"You rode a—? From the villa?" She blinks at him.

He nods.

"_Why?" _

He shrugs, "It was fun."

"You are _ridiculous_."

"You are _so _happy to see me," he concludes.

And she huffs, "I'm _happy _you can keep to a _schedule." _

"I was _delayed _in Paris," he argues, "You two _left _me." The words slip out with a grin, but they make obvious the one thing he's given the least amount of thought to— Serena's presence.

He looks up when he thinks her name; their gazes lock and abruptly, he doesn't know what to do. She's standing right there, alone, the guys having moved away, blonde hair spilling out from underneath a floppy straw hat and bottom lip caught between her teeth as she studies him seriously; eyes drifting from his sweat-matted hair to his t-shirt and shorts and sneakers, before lifting to his eyes again.

He returns the scrutiny; and thinks she looks like everything he loves about the summer: warm, bright, fun, beautiful… and that he's her _ex-boyfriend _now_. _

It's what holds him in place, keeps him silent; he's never been her ex… _anything _before. He has no idea what to _do _or _how_ to do it and—

Blair clears her throat, waves between, "Serena, Nate, Nate, Serena," she says dryly, "You've met."

Serena's gaze flickers to Blair, "_B," _she says with a small frown.

The brunette shrugs, looks bored, "If you're going to stand there like strangers than I'm going to treat you as so."

"We're not strangers," Serena says unnecessarily, looks at Nate again; expression a bit hesitant.

There's a sliver of a question in her eyes and Nate still doesn't know what to do… it took him the better part of a _year _to figure out how to be Blair's ex-boyfriend… to get used to that. It's not been enough time with Serena, he doesn't know what's okay, what's not, where the lines are… and he shakes his head a little, ignores the part of him that says it might never be enough time, he might never figure it out.

He takes a step forward, "Yeah…" he murmurs, "No…" he swallows hard, can't find it, the _how_ of how to be her ex, knows only how to be her… Nate. So that's what he does, he reaches out and tugs at a side of the floppy hat, "Nice hat."

And she brightens, instantaneously, smile stretching across her face and moving forward to give him a hug, arms around his neck as she gushes, "_Thank _you," her face against his shoulder for a beat, "I just bought it!" And then she pulls back, turns around and points, "That table…" she shifts, "Or that one…"

"That was the bracelets," Blair corrects and then holds her wrist out for Nate to see the ring of amethyst encircling it.

"We got matching ones," Serena informs him; she's at Blair's side then, hooking one arm through Blair's and extending the other so Nate can see the matching jewelry. They lean into each other, drift out of the tent and into the sun, it catches their hair, makes both shades, light and dark, glimmer and when Blair's voice floats over to him, _"Are you _coming_?"_ He laughs and trails after them.

There's a strange familiarity to the rest of the morning, the afternoon; Blair and Serena moving from tent to tent, buying earrings and books and silk scarves, hats and anklets and porcelain figurines— handing him bags to hold and telling him to keep up with them. They don't really talk about anything; no mentions of the city or relationships or Dan or Chuck… just three them, wandering around in a simple, carefree way they haven't done in years. He likes watching them try on silly looking sunglasses and hold up earrings to one another's faces, likes the careless way they slip in and out of each other's arms and the laugh that never really fades between them— just sits on their mouths or shines in their eyes or sounds from their voices. The confident grins they give him when they deign to turn around and hand him another shopping bag to hold, the chatter they don't even bother including him in, the way they're so certain he's paying attention to their every move—and how he is.

It's only when they start holding up hats and earrings to _his _face that he's ready to call it quits. "I'm _hungry," _he announces; it's well after lunch.

"We're not finished," Blair states with finality.

Serena nods in agreement, "We've only seen half of it, Nate." She shakes her head, "We can't leave."

He holds up the bags he's been carrying for hours now, "You guys did great, I commend your ability to shop from tables, really. But I'm _starving."_

"Don't whine," Blair reprimands, keeps walking.

"If I leave, you'll have to carry your own bags."

The brunette scoffs at him, "Don't be absurd," she motions to the slowly moving crowd, people drifting all around them, "You're not the only boy here."

And Serena giggles, doesn't say anything. She hasn't said much _directly _to him, but they've smiled and shared jokes and he thinks they're okay, because she's not being his ex either— she's being Serena. "He wouldn't _leave _us," she whispers to Blair though, sends him a sly look.

Blair shakes her head, "Of course not."

"I'm _hungry," _he pouts, sighs dramatically.

"Daddy's sending a car at four, you can hold on for another twenty minutes." Blair tells him.

"I'm going to ride back."

"On the bicycle?" Blair queries skeptically.

And they slow their pace, both look at him inquiringly.

Nate nods, matches their pace, "I rode_ here." _

Serena tilts her head to one side, "Where did you leave the bike?"

Nate stops, turns around, "Uh… back there…" He motions the way they came.

"Well, we're not going back…" Blair pronounces.

And Nate turns back around, meets her brown eyes, grins at her, "I'm going back."

She shrugs, "Fine, but don't expect us to—"

He lifts the bags he's holding up a little, takes a step back, "Taking these with me…"

And Serena laughs, tugs Blair to a complete stop, "He's trying to _blackmail_ us, B." She says delightedly, likes it's the funniest thing she's heard.

Blair's eyes narrow on him, "He is entirely out of his league."

He shrugs at her, "And always have been… never stopped me before."

Blair rolls her eyes, "Fine, take the bags back to the house for us. _Thank _you."

"What if I…" he takes another step back, "… _lose _something."

Serena brings a hand to her mouth to stifle another giggle.

"You wouldn't _dare," _Blair says firmly.

"It'd be an accident." Nate says innocently.

"And I would _accidentally _impale your foot with my shoe."

Serena nudges Blair in the side, "B…" she says on a laugh.

Nate grins motions with his head for them to follow him as he takes big steps backwards; he bumps into a couple people, says, _"désolé, désolé" _with a grin and then calls out to the girls, "Come on…"

Blair shakes her head, but Serena takes a step towards him; tugs at Blair to follow her and he laughs, announces, "I'll give you a _ride."_

"A _what?" _Blair snaps, allows Serena to pull her a few step towards Nate.

Serena laughs, bright and unabashed suddenly, "Oh my god Nate, _yes." _She says excitedly, "You _have _to!"

He nods excitedly too and Blair looks between them with dawning horror on her face, "Are you insane?"

"It'll be so fun!" Serena squeals, "We haven't done that since…" she's pulling Blair quickly now and Nate's leading them back the way they came as Serena's voice fills his ears, "Oh it must have been middle school! When Nate used to put us on the handle-bars, remember!"

"I _hated _that," Blair reminds them. And she had.

"I'm better balanced now!" Nate calls behind his shoulder with a grin.

"It was so fun!"

"It was _dangerous," _Blair corrects tries to dig her feet in a little, "I don't want to, I hated that…" she repeats.

"But you're older and wiser now," Serena says cheerfully, using her longer arms and height advantage to pull Blair along anyhow.

"Exactly. I know how—"

"—how fun and awesome it is." Serena finishes for her.

Nate laughs; they're not really that far from where he'd first scene them, stopping at every table had somewhat diminished their speed- _a lot. _

"We have _bags," _Blair points out.

"I have better balance now too!" Serena exclaims.

Blair shakes her head, "It's too far."

Nate drops back beside her, shoots Serena a quick smile on Blair's other side, "We'll only go until we see the car your Dad sends… text him even, the driver, to be on the lookout."

"It's _juvenile." _

"It's _summer," _Serena corrects, gives Blair's arm a squeeze. "And anyway," she says more softly, mouth pressing near Blair's ear, "We wanted to re_juvenate _this summer, this'll be fu—"

"There it is!" Nate exclaims.

Blair sighs, "I was hoping someone had stolen it."

Serena rolls her eyes nudges Blair's face with hers, "This will be so fun."

"I'm wearing a dress! So are _you!" _

Serena giggles, "We'll be _scandalous!" _

They're walking out of the general vicinity of the festival then, the crowd thinning out and the road opening up again.

Nate's already at the bike, straightening it and tying packages to it when the girls near him. Serena is grinning, hat tipped back away from her face, cheeks flushed and eyes bright; Blair is eyeing him and the bike warily, mouth puckered and brows furrowed.

"He'll kills us," she decides then, "This is a road and he'll kil—"

"I will not!" Nate laughs, "There's barely any cars on this road anyway and—"

"He's right," Serena nods, "It'll be fi—"

"Just because you broke up with him doesn't mean you have to let him _kill us _as some sort of consolation prize, Serena!" Blair exclaims, "Look at that thing!"

"I'm not going to kill you!" Nate defends.

"_B," _Serena hisses, pulls away and frowns at the other girl, "Don't."

"Oh," Blair huffs, "Can we not to talk about that?"

"Can we talk about you and Chuck?"

"This is not abo—"

"What we can _talk about," _Nate cuts in firmly, holds the bike next to himself, "Is who's getting on first."

He smiles at them, both of them, wide and steady and _dares _them to keep arguing in the face of his enthusiasm— which he is _not _going to let slip.

"I'm _not _getti—"

"Blair," Serena says just as the brunette begins to argue.

Blair rolls her eyes, "Have I indicated in any way that I'm okay with this?"

Serena shrugs at her and the two stare at each other for a moment.

"It's a really great bike," Nate says into the silence.

They don't respond to him; are busy having their own non-verbal conversation and Nate takes the opportunity to think that he wants ice cream when they get back to the villa.

Serena's wrapping an arm around Blair's shoulders then, tugging her into a half hug, saying softly, "This will be okay… and it will be fun."

And despite the supremely skeptical look Blair gives her, she doesn't argue; which is a good thing, because Serena is right.

Nate straddles the bike, agrees Blair should get on first— the handlebars. He hooks his hands under her arms and lifts her up onto them with a lot more ease than he'd expected to.

He laughs when she wobbles, steadies her carefully, his hands at her waist as he says, _"Just hold on right here," _and guides her hands to where they have to be. She demands, _"Do not let me fall!" _in a slightly panicked voice and he laughs, soothes, _"I've got you." _

Serena stands back and watches them; expression strangely somber for a moment. Their gazes hold for a beat, silently, and then he smiles at her, _"Okay, now you," _and the moment passes. She nods eagerly and he tells her, _"Sit on the seat, legs out, I'll stand and pedal." _

She laughs and does what he says and Blair squeaks, _"Let me off, let me off!" _

But he doesn't. He pushes off with his feet, runs them all for a beat, Serena's hands on his shoulders and Blair's hair in his face, and then he starts to pedal. They wobble precariously and Blair's knuckles turn white on the handlebars and her voice goes up high _"stop, stop, stop!" _and Serena laughs in his ear, _"go, go, go!" _and he knows right then, this is how summer should always be.

They get the hang of it and Blair stops screeching and starts laughing and it isn't until a car whirls by, shifting their momentum that he thinks maybe Blair's right and he's going to kill them all— but she's having fun by then, changed her mind, thinks they're doing _fine_; tells him to keep pedaling or get off and let _her _do it.

The idea of Blair _in a dress _riding a bike makes him laugh so hard he _has _to stop and Serena insists if anyone is going to pedal next it's _her. _They stagger to a stop and he dismounts, breathless and sweaty and completely unable to stop laughing.

He can't tell how, but somehow, possibly just by being Blair, Blair wins and gets to pedal next. And Serena turns to him with a pout, blue eyes bright, _"She's going to leave us." _

Blair calls out they'll have to run to catch her and Serena wiggles her high-heeled foot at him, arcs a golden eyebrow. He tilts his head back and laughs, but turns around—let's her hop onto his back.

He doesn't know if this is something ex's do; piggy-back rides home, but it's something Nate and Serena do.

Blair pedals slowly, inhibited by her own heels, and he has no trouble jogging alongside her, Serena attached to him—at least for a little while.

When he gets tired he reaches over and grabs the handlebars, turns the whole bike in a wide circle. _"Nate!" _She shouts, slides off the seat.

Serena laughs, hops off his back, and grabs Blair's hands—twirls them around. _"My turn!" _

When the car sent for them finally appears they're trying all three on the bike again; Serena up front this time, Blair on the seat.

They disband the attempt even before the car is stopped; they're hot and tired and weak from laughter and they collapse into the air condition vehicle en masse. Nate stretches out on the floor of the limo, exhausted laughter still spilling out of him, an arm slung over his face as the girls stretch out together, tired and sticky and happy their giggles and breathy laughs filling the silence of the car.

* * *

Nate is actually starving by the time they reach the villa; he's not even _kidding. _Serena laughs, agrees, Blair rolls her eyes at them and informs them she's off to shower.

They're walking into the cool house, content and so easy with each other; and Nate exchanges a look with Serena, both of them mischievous and delighted and completely in sync and a beat later he swoops down and scoops Blair over his shoulder, Serena running ahead, a trail of golden hair behind her, the hat lost somewhere along the way.

_"NATE." _Blair smacks his back and shoulder and by the time he reaches the kitchen Serena's pulled out brownies and bottled water and apples and grapes and sliced mango; she's biting an apple and his mouth waters.

"Put me _DOWN," _Blair shouts, her nails digging into his shoulders.

He winces, laughs, and sets her down gently by the counter. She comes at him with flashing dark eyes, swats angrily at his shoulders and chest.

He lifts his arms to deflect the blows, squeaks, "Ow, ow, ow!" But he can't stop grinning, so he thinks it loses most of its meaning.

"What is _wrong _with you?" She demands, one last slap against his arm, "You can't just go arou—"

And Serena giggles, reaches over and pops a grape into Blair's open mouth. Blair gives the blonde an outraged look but she chews and Nate leans his elbows on the counter, reaches for a brownie and puts nearly half of it in his mouth; he's chewing as he reaches for a bottle of water, takes a long gulp of it and goes to take another bite when he dribbles some water onto his chin and Serena laughs, points at his face as she licks the juice of the apple from her lips, "Drop-cloth, much?"

He rolls his eyes, his smile quirking a little at the edges, and wipes at his chin, finishes stuffing the brownie into his mouth, watches her take one for herself and he knows Blair's backing away from them slowly, saying something about not being hungry, being too sticky, too hot, going to the bathroom, needing to shower, and he nods at her, but he's watching Serena take a bite of her brownie, reaching for an apple of his own. She giggles when gooey fudge smears across her mouth and he takes a bite of the apple, fresh and sweet and she laughs, murmurs, "S'good," as she swipes at her mouth. He nods and laughs too, eyes on a smudge of chocolate she didn't he motions towards, extends a hand, teases with, "_Drop-cloth, much?" _

He freezes with his fingertips a hairsbreadth of space from her lip— his smile and laughter and entire self going silent, still, and so does she; their eyes widening and meeting one another's in startled surprise.

He whips his hand back as if burned, straightens from the counter abruptly.

She does the same, eyes looking away from his face, "Nate..."

"No, yeah…" he says quickly, puts the apple down, "I know."

"We can't—" She sets the unfinished brownie on the countertop.

He swallows hard, "I didn't mean to do tha—"

"That can't hap—"

"Right," he nods, stares at the counter.

"Good." Her voice is quiet, small.

He nods, steps around the space, towards the doorway, "Yeah… it just… I—" _I forgot. _

She nods too, steps back, gives him wide berth, "We can't… we're here, at the same time, but we're—"

"I _know_…" he says, just as quietly, "We're not."

She looks at him, all the laughter and smiling wiped away; that smear of chocolate still at her lip, "Okay then…" She takes another step back, towards another doorway.

He looks at her across the room, "Yeah…"

She nods. And they stare at each other in silence for another beat, before simultaneously turning around leaving the kitchen in opposite directions.

* * *

.tbc.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer**: I do not own "Gossip Girl."

* * *

He makes it around the doorway and into another room, before the air in his lungs leaves him a rush. He leans back against a wall, head tilted backwards until it bumps the wood and shuts his eyes, breathes in and out, slowly and deeply; heart pounding in his chest.

He _forgot. _

How ridiculous and _stupid _is that? You cannot _forget_ that you are broken-up with someone— not even after an afternoon of laughing and touching and fun.

You just _can't. _

He makes a mental note of it: avoid being in a room alone with Serena and goes off to shower.

* * *

Serena doesn't come down for dinner that night; Blair makes excuses for her with a laugh and a wave of her hand, _"She's in desperate need of city lights."_

And Harold nods, says he thought he'd heard a car pulling away. Blair smiles, nods, tells them all about Serena's powerful urge for a Parisian cappuccino; slides her gaze noncommittally to Nate, and Nate sits quietly and stares at his salad.

* * *

He's answering Harold's, _"tell me about Columbia, Nate" _and Roman's _"how's the summer been treating you?" _when Blair excuses herself from the table. He's just finished a sentence about _glad to get away_ and _needing new scenery_, has a scoop of gelato on his spoon, on its way to his mouth— and her smooth declaration startles him, has his eyes flying to her face.

She's been smiling and friendly and a little bit teasing, _"Nate can only tell you about the sports, Daddy, don't ask him what a classroom looks like," _all during dinner and it surprises him, to have her leave before dessert is over; but she's up and drifting away and all he manages is _"okay," _and a glance at her untouched gelato before Harold asks if he's done any sailing this season.

* * *

"Are you…?" He stops just past the threshold, "What are you doing?"

"_Exactly _what it looks like I'm doing."

"A… puzzle?"

Blair lifts her head, a puzzle piece in her hand, "Yes, Nate," she answers, just a touch condescendingly, "A _puzzle_."

And he smiles at her, walks forward and pulls a chair up closer to the desk, looks at the pieces with interest, "What is it?" He asks, studying the different shades of blue pieces scattered over the desk. She has a board out, but only the corner sections finished— a sky, he thinks, maybe a night sky? The entire middle is still undone.

"Shouldn't you be gardening?" She asks, turns her attention back to her task.

And he laughs. "He told you?" Roman had mentioned new roses that were being delivered today and a gardener that wouldn't come until later that week.

"Hmh, earlier this morning…" her eyes lift to his and she smirks, "You're going to plant rose bushes."

He shrugs, fiddles with a couple of the pieces strewn near him, "Do you want to come out with me…?"

"Don't touch." She reprimands, waves at his hand and then clicks a piece into place.

"Yesterday was fun." He continues.

"Hmh…"

He watches her toy with another piece; her hair's pulled back and there's no make-up on her face, she looks calm, kind of sad. "You okay?"

"I am _tryin_g to build the patience necessary to distinguish between three-hundred dark blue pieces in order to form a starry night's sky."

He tilts his head to one side, tries to catch her eye, "Is that a no?"

She sighs, switches to another puzzle piece, "It's an, _I should have gone with Serena last night." _

Nate's smile dims; Serena had been gone all night, still hadn't reappeared. He leans back in the chair, "Why didn't you?"

She clicks another piece into place; doesn't answer.

And he sighs; watches her for a long moment before reaching to take a piece for himself, might as well help her with—

She slaps his hand, hard. "Don't touch."

He whips it back fast, drops the piece, "I was going to help!"

"Don't. I'm building my patience here."

He frowns, rubs at his hand. "You're _failing." _

"Go _away_."

"You _called _me."

She lifts dark eyes to him, "And at the moment I cannot remember _why." _

And he stares at her before saying softly, "Because you want me to tell you… that it's okay to tell Serena what happened with Chuck."

She drops her eyes, "I do not."

"Blair—"

"Exact _opposite _actually. That's exactly why I didn't go with her…" she offers, "She keeps waiting for me to be… distracted or relaxed or basically drunk… and then— she's trying to figure out—" her gaze lifts again, "I don't _care _what he's doing or where he is, _at all._"

Nate licks his lips. Chuck's been out of touch since May; which is not unlike him, but is still disturbing— has always been disturbing when he vanishes from their radar. "I don't know either."

"I didn't _ask _you._" _

"Okay."

"Serena keeps _wondering _like I'm supposed toknow or care or think about it even..."

He rubs at the back of his neck slowly, "Well… she doesn't kno—"

"She knows about _her." _Blair snaps.

And Nate cringes a little; he'd heard about _that_, had gotten an empty stare and protracted silence from Chuck when he'd brought it up, hasn't spoken to Jenny since she left the city to stay with her Mom, and isn't anywhere near suicidal enough to say her name to Blair.

"It's enough isn't it?" The brunette presses on; eyes on the puzzle again, "She should leave it, stop poking at it, we're on _vacation _and it's not like I ask her to talk about Humphrey or the apparent Sparks-Humphrey _spawn _or _you _so she—"

"Maybe Serena just wants to be sure…" he interrupts her— doesn't want to talk about him either, "That you're okay…" he offers carefully, "With… things, you know… _ending_."

Blair pushes a puzzle piece _hard _into place. "I _am_."

She's keeping her gaze on the puzzle, studying it intently, and he leans forward, puts his elbows on the desk, "Okay," he appeases softly, flicks a puzzle piece lightly at her.

She jumps back a little, frowns at him, "Nate…"

He smiles, does it again; the piece bounces off her hand and the frown turns into a glare. "Don'—"

"Let's go for a walk." He taps his fingers on the desk, "I can show you _where _I'm going to plant rose bushes."

"You know there are _gardeners _for that. Daddy and Roman can wait, there's no need for you to—"

"But I've never done it before." He'd like to start doing things he's never done before.

"That is…" she murmurs, arching an eyebrow, "Unsound logic."

He smiles at her widely, eyes flickering to the unfinished picture she's putting together, "Like doing a puzzle to learn patience?"

"I _am_ learning patience_," _she repeats determinedly.

And he studies her for a beat before leaning forward and putting his chin on the hard wood of the desk, looking up at her curiously, "What _for?" _

She huffs. "So I can…" she trails off there, puts one piece down and picks another up, avoids his gaze, "I have to wait for it and I will," she starts again, "That's what this summer is about… learning to…" she sighs a little, "Just because Chuck…" the sentence tapers off.

He slides a hand over a pile of the pieces, closes his fist over them, "Let's go for a walk." He repeats. They don't need to talk about what Chuck's taught her.

She lifts her head, gives him a reproaching look, "Aren't you _listening _to me?"

He nods, straightens up from the desk, "You want to go for a walk…" he informs her, "Maybe a run…?"

She straightens a little too, "A… _run?" _She echoes doubtfully.

He grins. "Yup."

"_Why _would I want to—"

"To catch me," he says brightly as he pops up from the chair and drops the handful of puzzle pieces over her head.

Blair gasps as they shower over, snaps, "_Nate!_" and reaches out to snag his shirt, before he can hop away, "You did not just do that! I'm work—"

He reaches down and swipes more loose pieces towards her and she squeaks in outrage, jumping from the chair, "Stop—"

He bounces back, away from her, forgets she's got his shirt in her grip and pulls her with him; laughs when she bumps into his chest and she scowls up at him reaches back to the desk as he says, "Let's explore the grou—"

He doesn't finish; she tosses puzzle pieces right into his face— they bounce off his cheeks, forehead, into his eyes, his mouth, and he starts, blinks.

She gives him a smug look and they stare at each other for a beat before he tilts his head back and laughs, lunges around her to grab more pieces.

"Don't!" She shouts now, slapping at his hand, his arm, "You'll ruin it—"

He hops back, before her nails claw into his arm, "It's too pretty to stay inside all day!"

"It's barely past ten!"

"Let's _go." _He takes her hand and pulls at her.

And she breathes a laugh, looks at him askance as she stumbles forward a little, "You just can't see someone working quietly can you?" She wonders, dark eyes shining a little.

And he laughs too, because, yeah—no, he really can't.

* * *

He doesn't come anywhere close to getting Blair Waldorf to touch dirt, even with gloves on; but he does get her stand by in the shade as he digs a hole.

And to offer him advice:

_"You need to dig deeper." _

_"It's not circular enough." _

_"Equally deep all around, how hard is that?" _

_"Don't get dirt on the _other _plants." _

_"Be careful with the thorns!" _

_"Pile it _gently _around the roots." _

_"How is that gently!" _

_"Watch the blooms!" _

When he's finally got one bush planted she nods satisfactorily, decides that's enough work for one morning, and leads him back inside; tells Roman she just planted her first roses.

Behind her, he rolls his eyes and exchanges amused grins with her Dad.

* * *

He keeps expecting her to come down for lunch, kind of _needs _her to, because there's only so many euphemisms he can think up for, _I have no idea where my life is going, _to give to the parents.

She doesn't appear though until after they've finished the meal; grabs an apple with a smile and tells Nate she's decided to allow him the privilege of learning patience with her.

* * *

They spend the afternoon working on the puzzle.

Nate stares at the picture on the box from all angles, decides it's impossible; Blair is determined to vanquish it one piece at a time.

* * *

Serena strolls through the door of the den just before dinner, with shopping bags in hand.

She drops a French beret on his head, soft and dark blue; angles it _just right _with a grin on her face and then spills out half-a-dozen or so trinkets for Blair— right over their puzzle.

She takes Blair's hand with a giggle, _"wait until you hear who I met" _and pulls the girl out of the room.

Nate stands by and watches them drift away; thinks he probably doesn't want to know who she met anyway.

* * *

He begs off dinner, has _really _run out of alternate ways of saying it; goes to the pool instead, swims laps and tries not to wonder what the girls are talking, _who _they're talking about; he focuses on the water and the length of the pool and how fast he can get from one end to the other.

And maybe there's a part of him that expects them to tumble through the doors with swimsuits and smiles, to jump into the water with him and ruin his momentum— but they don't and he tries not to be disappointed by that.

* * *

He's hungry late that night; should have gotten something to eat before going to bed. He tries, but he can't get to sleep, hadn't seen either girl after his swim and he can't help but wonder if maybe he shouldn't have come here. He's had fun with Blair, thinks she has had some too, but one day in and he'd already managed to drive Serena away for almost a whole day— it's not really fair to them. It was their vacation first and he knows, given the choice, Blair would choose Serena.

He pads downstairs, boxers and t-shirt and no shoes, thinking tomorrow at breakfast he'd announce a quick trip to London; stops in the doorway to the kitchen.

Blair's already in the room; dressed in a pale lavender nightgown with her hair loose, she's at the refrigerator, with the door open— staring intently at its contents.

There's a slowness to her movements that keeps him in place, silent, the steady way she retrieves a dish of napoleon dessert from inside, the careful way she sets it down, retrieves a fork, positions herself in front of it on a stool, all with a strangely unnerving stare that makes him frown a little.

He's about to speak up, _"no plate, Waldorf?" _when Serena catapults herself into the room from the opposite entrance, "Oh what a _great _idea, B!" She squeals, goes for a fork of her own without waiting for a response, "A midnight snack!"

Blair stiffens in her seat.

And Nate smiles to himself; Serena's hair is loose too, her nightie sheer and short and he stares at her, bare legs and arms, for a beat before stepping into the kitchen too, "More like a two in the morning snack." He teases.

Serena freezes and Blair's gaze turns to him— and he gets that feeling he's been having, that maybe he's intruding. His smile dims, but Serena's brightens then and if he hadn't been watching her, he wouldn't think it was forced at all.

"Oh _nice," _she enthuses, "All three of us then…" She nudges Blair as she moves to get another fork.

Blair clears her throat and Nate shifts his gaze to her, she looks little pale, oddly serious given how delighted Serena seems.

He gives her a small smile and then nods at the blonde, settles on a stool across from them. Serena hands him a fork and their fingers brush— she looks away, he pretends it didn't happen— Blair sets her own fork on the counter, silently, as Serena stabs the napoleon with hers.

The kitchen is quiet and he looks between the girls, can see the tight edges of Serena's smile now, the hard light in her blue eyes— she brings a bite of pastry to her mouth, fixes those eyes on Blair.

"Snack time, Blair," she urges, licks crème off her lips.

Blair shrugs one shoulder causally, "I think, all of a sudden… I'm more sleepy than anything…"

Serena puts an elbow on the counter, lifts another forkful to her mouth, "That's weird… since we were asleep, right? Until, being-hungry woke us up… because we skipped dinner." Her gaze slams into his then, "Eat up, Nate."

He doesn't object; does immediately as he's told.

"Good, right?" She wonders, a certain edge to the words.

He nods. "Yeah, really good…" But the words are muted in the still kitchen.

"See, B. It's good."

"I _know _it's good," Blair says tightly, pushes off the stool, "I've just lost my appetite for it."

"After you came all the way down here."

"Yes."

Serena reaches out, wraps her fingers around Blair's wrist, stops her from taking a step, "That's kind of sudden."

"Yes, I did _say _all of a sudden, didn't I?" Blair snaps.

"Maybe you should try—"

Blair yanks her hand free, "You're not the only one in this kitchen who can suddenly decide they don't want something." She hisses.

And Nate's eyes widen, whatever is going on here just went up notch.

Serena's gaze goes flat, "This isn't about—"

"This isn't about _anything," _Blair cuts in, moves towards the door, "Enjoy your snack."

"B…"

The brunette doesn't so much as look over her shoulder as she leaves the room and Serena stares after her, whispers, _"wait" _into the quiet kitchen.

Nate watches her sigh, the way she ducks her head, long hair brushing the countertop.

"Is everything—"

"No," she answers before he finishes the question; sets her own fork down and stands. "It's not."

He looks at her; the way her lips are drawn into a tight, straight line and her brows furrowed worriedly, how the blue of her eyes is strangely faded-looking and her gaze is turned fully inwards.

"What's wro— you can tell me," he offers softly, _anything, _"If you want to." _I'm here. _

She blinks, seems the tiniest bit startled at his words, "I know," the words are quick, seem automatic; and then she licks her lips, rubs a palm on the counter, "But no…" she shakes her head, lifts that hand and nudges his shoulder, "Not… yet."

She steps back then, "See ya in the morning, Archibald."

And a moment later, he's alone in the kitchen with a fork and a barely touched napoleon.

* * *

She doesn't tell him though; not the next day either.

At breakfast, he starts to bring up the subject of leaving, _"I was thinking I would go—" _and Blair cuts in quickly, smiles wide. _She_ was thinking they would go on a day trip to Bordeaux. There's steel lining her voice, a dare in her eyes as she looks at Serena.

And Serena smiles brightly, _too _brightly, _"Great idea, B." _

So the girls wear dresses and make him wear a jacket and that is what they do.

* * *

At the vineyard, Blair requests they be treated to a wine tasting.

It's the kind of boring event he loves to avoid; but the girls are smiling and nodding and insisting, so he trails after them with a smile of his own.

* * *

Serena sneaks a bottle of the tasting wine and grabs ahold of Blair's hand, Blair of his, and they push into an empty room with wide smiles and stifled giggles.

"This is a _much_ better way to get a feel for the flavor, dontcha think?" Serena says with a grin as she takes a drink right from the bottle and passes it to him.

He grins back, "Oh definitely."

Blair smirks, counters with, "Oh gross."

"Don't worry, just enjoy it," he teases, hands her the bottle.

Serena grabs the bottle at the same time Blair does, gives the brunette a pointed look, "Oh I don't think she can… she has to _control _everything._" _

And Blair flinches then, frowns at Serena.

Serena frowns back.

He sighs. "What's going _on _with you two?" He finally wonders.

"_Nothing," _Blair snaps, pulls at the wine bottle. "_Serena _has an overactive imagination."

Serena pulls back, says, "It's not nothing..." and Nate takes a step towards them because she sounds near tears, "I _heard—"_

Blair pulls the bottle little harder, cuts her off, "I don't even know what you're talking about!"

Serena yanks back, "_Yes, _you do! You're—"

And Blair lets go of the bottle then, just as Serena's yanking it forward; the wine spills outwards, all over the front of the blonde's dress and chest and neck and face.

There's a breath of absolute stillness, where Nate feels his eyes go round in his face, and then Serena releases a puff of a breath, looks down at herself and Blair draws herself up straighter, chin lifting, "_That _is what comes of just _enjoying _things," she snaps, "_Mess." _

She turns around to leave then, calls out, "Come find me when you've cleaned yourself up," over her shoulder.

Nate's eyes are glued to the doorway for a beat; until he hears Serena sniff, he looks over in time to see her wipe at her face, before covering it with her hands, shoulders hunching in on themselves. She's set the bottle down on a side table is leaning back against the armrest of a sofa.

"Hey, hey…" he whispers, reaching out tentatively to touch her arm; still so unsure of what's okay and what isn't, "It's just a dress, don't—"

She turns into him abruptly, face going into chest and he starts, surprised, wraps his arms around her without thinking, "Hey…" he soothes, rubs at her arms, her back, "It's okay…"

She shakes her head against him, says a muffled, "It's _not,"_ and grips the front of his shirt between clenched hands.

He swallows hard, holds her for another moment and then pulls away; keeps one arm around her as he guides her around to sit on the sofa.

"It's not," she repeats and he can see a tear trailing down her wine-stained cheek, "I don't know what to do, she won't admit it and I can't catch her and she's ruined my dress and this is going to _stain _and she's just _worrying _me…"

Nate doesn't get what she's talking about, but it worries him to.

She leans her elbows on her knees when they sit, hides her face in her hands, "She won't _talk _to me and I want so much to ignor— but it's not going to go— and…" she trails off there.

He studies her for a beat and then gets up. She doesn't lift her face and he moves to one of the guest bathroom of the house, takes a towel and wets it.

When he walks back into the room, she hasn't moved at all.

He sits next to her. "Hey, come on…" he touches the back of her hands lightly, tugs at them so he can see her face.

She won't look at him, "Nate… don't…"

"Shhh," he says, "Just… let me…" he touches the towel to her neck gently, wipes at the wine with a careful circling motion.

Her face turns towards him, eyes still pooling with tears, "Don't be helpful."

He nods, wipes at her chin, "Okay."

"I mean it."

He touches the towel to her cheeks in silence; slides it up the sides of her face, "It's not staining…" he murmurs with a small smile.

Her lips quirk a little, "I meant the dress."

"Oh okay." He says lightly.

"Nate…" she whispers.

And he's avoided looking into her eyes this whole time, but his whispered name pulls his gaze to hers. He focuses every thought he has not reading anything in her eyes, "Yeah?"

Serena catches her bottom lip between her teeth, looks about to say something, and then doesn't; shakes her head and leans back instead.

She takes the towel from him, scoots back away from him on the sofa and he blows out a quick breath, nods to himself. She broke up with him and he made it final— in or out and she'd chosen _out_. They're finished; and if he he can't stop watching her, the way she wipes at her chest and neck and face again, then dabs at the dress, frowns down at it, it's because he's _worried _too now_._

She rubs harder at the front of the dress.

He smiles slightly, "Nobody will notice."

"I'm _covered." _

"It's okay—"

"Stop saying that," she snaps heatedly.

And he shrinks back a little, sighs softly.

She looks up, eyes widening, "Oh Nate… I'm sorry— I just…" she shrugs, blinks quickly, "It's just…"

He nods, shrugs out of his jacket, and drapes it over her shoulders. "It _will _be okay," he corrects.

"You can't…" she shakes her head, towel in her lap, fingers wrapping around the lapels of the jacket unconsciously, "You can't do this."

"Do what?"

"Give me your jacket," she tells him, but makes no move to take it off.

He takes the towel and sets it aside, "Oh I can't?" He takes her hand.

"No…" she says as he pulls her up, "It's… a boyfriend thing…"

He lets go of her hand, "Maybe," he agrees, "Sometimes…" He watches her as she fidgets inside the jacket, drawing it around herself, trying to cover the worse of the stain— and he drops an arm around her shoulders. "Not this one, though. This one is specifically a friend jacket." And he hopes it fits.

For a moment, she's still against him; and then she looks up, pressed against his side. "Is it?" There's the hint of a smile on her face.

He nudges her closer, gives her a half-hug as they walk towards the door, "Yeah."

They stagger a little as they walk, until she carefully slips an arm around his waist—for stability, he knows— and she nods, "Good."

He nods too, "And, you know, if you want to tell this friend about what's going on with you and Blair, then that'd be good too…"

She closes her eyes, presses her face into his shoulder—doesn't respond. And he guides them both out of the room in search of Blair.

* * *

He walks in on it the next day— the dining room, empty, except for Blair and Serena, Blair in skirt, Serena in shorts, standing across from each other, glaring and shouting.

"I don't know what you want me to say!"

"The truth, B! If you need help then—"

"I _don't!" _

"I _know _you do! _Please _just—"

"Stop it! Just _stop _it, Serena! You're ruining everything! This summer is about _us_ and being single and finding love and—"

"I know it is! I know that! I want it too, but I can't just ignore it when you start—"

"It's not starting! I don't know why you think—"

"You called for _Nate _to distract me!"

"I called Nate because I thought he could use a good time!"

"You called for him because you wanted my attention somewhere else!"

"I don't need to get _Nate _here to distract you! Just something shiny or male!"

"I'm not going to let this happen!" Serena's striding towards her now, reaching out and taking her hands, "You're my _sister _and I'm _not _letting you do this to yourself!"

Blair tries to pull free, "I'm _not!" _

"There isn't _anything _that's worth—"

Blair shakes her head, "Stop—stop it! You don't _know _anything!"

"What happened with Chuck and Jenn—"

Blair yanks free so hard she stumbles backwards, "_Don't _say her _name _to me!"

"It didn't _mean _anything to him! I know it didn—"

"_Nothing _means anything to him!" Blair shouts, tears welling in her eyes.

Nate steps forward then, "Hey—"

"Stay out of this!" Serena snaps at him, expression dark as she faces him.

"No," Blair rages, points, "_You _stay out of it!" She staggers back, "You leave it alone or you _leave! _Do you understand me?" The question is an ultimatum and Blair rushes out of the room as soon as the last syllable leaves her lips.

Serena holds herself perfectly still for a heartbeat and Nate takes a step towards her, ready to comfort, but the eyes that swing from the doorway to his aren't asking for comfort; they're flashing blue, tumultuous and dark, and he stumbles to a halt, feels goosebumps prickle his skin suddenly, he opens his mouth, "Sere—"

"She's relapsing."

She spits the two words at him and for a moment they make absolutely no sense, "She's— wha—? What do yo—"

"And I don't know how long or what set it off or why she won't admit to it or _anything _apparently." Serena lists, her voice dull.

— until they suddenly, and completely, do.

His mouth goes dry and he shakes his head. "No." He takes a step back. He hadn't understood— the first ti— he'd never understood this— why _Blair _of people… would think— but, but— "She's… no, she's better, okay…" She'd gotten better and it'd been over and they didn't have to think about it anymore.

"It doesn't go away." Serena says very steadily, "She was better, but it's— it's there."

He takes another step back, wants to get out of the dining room; maybe pretend he'd never walked in here.

"Tell me what _you _know?" Serena asks him then, voice serious, the sudden calm of her expression belying the heat in her eyes.

And he swallows hard, stares at the floor.

"Nate." Her tone is hard, stern.

He looks up. "I… she can't—"

This couldn't be… about, _that. _She couldn't be not-better anymore because of that. She couldn't think it was about her, that _that _had been about her— that had been _Chuck's _fuck-up, not _hers. _

He steps back again, is almost to the doorway, avoids Serena's gaze, "I don't…"

"Don't _lie _to me." She demands, "You know something…" She huffs a dry, humorless laugh, "_You _know something… she won't tell _me, _but she'll—" she stops, approaches him then, "I don't even car— just go talk to her…" she tells him more softly, "Talk to her, Nate. She needs…" she swipes the hair errant strands of hair from her face, looks at him with widening, softening blue eyes, "If you know what this is… then just… talk to her. Help her with this…"

He blinks, "I…"

"You _have _to." She says, puts a hand to his chest, like she's feeling his heartbeat, "She's our— your friend, you have to. She's hurting and we can't pretend— not with this, it's—" she presses her palm into him, "She's not _hearing_ me, Nate… I don't know _why _but she's not…"

He can't seem to breathe.

"If there's a chance she'll hear you…" Serena says softly.

"I don't know what—" he breathes out, feels uncomfortable in his skin, the need to get away, but she's watching him, has her hand on him, "I don't know what to say…"

"Then tell _me." _Serena replies, "Tell me what you know that I don't and… I'll—"

"I can't." He'd promised.

"Then you have to do this," she rushes on; says it simply, as if she didn't know what it's like to run from the things you didn't want to face, things you can't quite look at— and he's never wanted to look at Blair's—

"Nate." Serena blinks at him and he can feel the heat of her gaze on him, of her hand against him.

_You have to do this. _It can't be that simple. It can't.

"You have to try."

And he stares at her, hesitant to admit it— but maybe it is.

* * *

.tbc.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer**: I do not own "Gossip Girl."

* * *

He finds her in a little used den, sitting alone and very still; it conjures up memories of over a year ago— of another empty room and silent Blair.

"Whatever she told you," Blair speaks before he's even half way to her, voice quiet, even, "She's wrong."

And Nate pauses for a moment, thinks about Serena's tears and her hand over his heart.

He keeps walking.

"She doesn't know what she's talking about." Blair adds and he hears the slightest of tremors in her voice.

He sits beside her on the couch, their shoulders touching, and nods, because he doesn't know what else to do; says, "Okay," because he doesn't know what else to say.

And then he falls just as silent as she is, stares at the floor.

"You're horrible at this," she says lowly after they've sat in silence for too long.

He turns his head, sees her lift her hand to wipe at her cheek. "At what?" He tries not to stare at her wet lashes.

She doesn't look at him, "The emotional conversation."

He licks his lips, still doesn't know what to say that either, settles for, "Oh."

She breathes out, it sounds almost like a laugh, but she turns her face away completely; tucks a lock of dark hair behind her ear. "You're supposed to ask me if I'm okay."

"You're… crying," he whispers; that's kind of an answer to that question.

There's a moment of silence and then Blair turns her head to him, "So?" Her eyes are mostly dry, a little red-rimmed, but steady.

"So…" he shrugs a little, "… no…?"

"You have to ask," she instructs him, "Especially when you're _you." _

He blinks, "What?"

"They could be _happy _tears," she points out, arcs an eyebrow, "What makes you think _you _could tell the difference?"

Nate takes a moment to register the insult and then he shakes his head a little, "They're not happy tears."

"They're not _tears," _she says tightly, looks away from him, "It's dusty in here, my eyes watered."

He's still at a loss; so he gives that to her, "Okay."

"Stop _saying _that." She snaps at him, sounds irritated; is still not looking at him.

He feels on firmer ground then, her irritation is easier than her tears. He sighs, rubs a hand over his face. "I think you should tell Serena." He just spills the words into the room, bluntly and seriously, and then ducks his head a little, tries to catch her eye.

She holds still, face turned away, doesn't respond.

"About the…" he rubs at the back of his neck, "Uh, you know… the…"

"I know about _what, _Nate._" _Blair hisses, face turning towards him.

He leans back away from her, "Right, yeah… so…" He nods, stares at her for a beat and then, "I think… you should tell her."

"I can't."

"She's… really upset, she thinks…" the words slips away from him.

Blair shakes her head, "Just leave it, Nate."

He kind of wishes he could— but he can't either. "You and Serena…" he says carefully, "You tell each othe—"

"What I tell _my _best friend isn't anymore your business than what you do with _yours _is mine_,_" Blair snipes, eyes hard on his face.

"That's not… we're all friends and this, you… if you're— if you need help—"

Her mouth goes thin, lips pressed together in a straight line; and Nate's mouths snaps shut. Blair is most dangerous when she's expressionless. "There is no _all _here. You're deluding yourself if you think you can be friends with your ex." She bites out.

"We're friends." He points out gently, motions between the two of them.

Blair's chin lifts, "My _friends _would respect my thoughts and decisions."

And Nate thinks that sounds… good, in theory. But he's not sure respecting one another's thoughts and decisions has ever been part of their collective make-up. "Just tell her," he presses softly, "Especially if you're—"

"If I'm _what?" _The question is sharp, dark eyes heavy on his face.

He takes a deep breath, "If you're upset enough to— to do someth— to be sick over it," he finishes on a rush, touches her hand lightly, "You should tell her and let her help—"

Blair pulls her hand back, "I'm not upset!"

"Blair, _please," _he whispers, "She's so sure that you're… that you need help."

"I don't."

"Then just tell her about… you know, what happened and calm her down, she's—"

"It's not my responsibility to calm her down!"

And that is such a _lie _that Nate openly gapes at her; mouth opening soundlessly and eyes widening a little— everything Serena is Blair's. She's always made it that way.

She looks down at her lap then, like she can't hold his gaze, like she knows how much of a lie that is too.

He touches her hand again and she doesn't yank it away this time. "When I said— when you told me, I said that we don't judge. We _don't. _You know that. You can tru—"

"I _can't," _she says it again and there're tears in her voice this time.

He studies her profile before asking softly, "Why not?" Because he honestly doesn't know, can't think of a single reason.

She doesn't answer for a long moment; so long he thinks maybe she won't respond at all and then she straightens, takes a deep breath, and looks straight ahead, "Just forget it, Nate."

"Bla—"

She pulls her hand away from his touch, waves it in the air, "Go plant a bush or—"

He frowns, "No, I'm not goi—"

She bristles, cuts him off, "Leave it."

"She's your best friend—"

"_Drop_ it, Nate." She slides her gaze to him, voice smooth, expressionless.

And he shifts on the sofa, faces her, confesses, "She thinks you're sick again—"

"What was the _first_ thing I said to you?" She snaps at him, voice rising.

And he swallows hard, feels his heart pounding hard in his chest, "You're telling me she's wrong? That she's got herself all worked up over nothing?"

Blair scowls at him, "Yes!"

"Then just tell her the truth!"

"I don't have to tell her if I don't want to!"

"Why wouldn't you want to? She's your best friend! She—"

"I _know_ who she is!"

"And she—"

"She's— _Serena van der Woodsen!" _

And the vehemence behind the words make him start. He blinks at her, loses some of his steam, "Yeah," he says, "And she lo—"

"And she won't— _can't _understand…" Blair continues fiercely, "She's _Serena, _Nate. She's not… what I did…"

He softens immediately, touches her knee, "You didn—"

Blair shrugs him off, talks over him, "— what I was _willing _to do for— she can't understand… she's not the girl that _does_ that… she's the girl…" she blows out a puff of air, "She's the girl people do that _for _and she'll… try and tell me— but it's not— she can't understand it… doing things, something like that… for someone…"

"Blair, she—"

"And she _shouldn't… _no one—I know it was— it's too much, I see that. You can't… give that much… it."

She stops there and Nate is so _baffled _by this he can only _stare _at her; for longer than he ought to, he knows. She shifts her gaze away from him, but he takes it as a good sign that she doesn't leave— or cry.

"Blair." He says her name quietly, because the shouting is over and now what they need is this, "Hey…" he touches light fingertips to her shoulder, "Look at me…"

She doesn't. She sighs. And then, "I don't think she's going to judge me, Nate. I just don't want her to know."

It's that simple and so is this, "Okay," he answers, hurries on before she snaps at him, "But, you."

She's silent for a beat, before glancing at him. "But me, _what?" _

"She'd do it for you."

He shrugs when she doesn't reply, clarifies. "Anything, I mean…" he rubs at his hair awkwardly, "She'd do anything— she loves _you _like that… you know that."

Blair still doesn't reply, stares at him, and he fidgets a bit under her wide, dark eyes; feels compelled to say more, "If you really don't want her to know, then I guess… you shouldn't, tell her. But… she—she'd understand, I think. I think, she'd understand anything that had to do with you… she loves _you." _He whispers.

He tilts his head to one side, "And you know she… she's probably not going to let this go… so you'll have to tell her something— and if you, you really are… if you need to talk to someo— to a professio— to _talk _about any… problems… then you should just tell her the trut—"

"I'm not bulimic." She interrupts him with _that _and he does _not _flinch.

He does look down though, at the sofa, for a beat, before looking back into her eyes, "But you've…?" He leaves the question unasked.

"Don't you think the situation enough to make _anyone _sick?"

He frowns, "You're not anyone."

She gives a regal nod, "I'll agree to that."

He keeps his eyes on her face for a beat and then presses, "How… sick?"

She doesn't answer, looks about to dismiss him again and he tenses, because he's _not _leaving this, but then she gives a tiny half-shrug, "… a few times."

The admittance is careful and he shakes his head, says sincerely, "A few times too many."

And she licks her lips, whispers, "Maybe."

He takes her hand in his, gives it a squeeze, "Definitely."

She sighs a little, drops her gaze from him, "I don't… _mean _to…_" _she adds, still a whisper.

And he doesn't understand how you can not mean to, but he doesn't know how to ask that— isn't sure if that would be okay to ask. So instead he reminds her softly, "Serena is _so_ worried."

Blair cringes, "I know that."

"Then stop it," he adds, keeps his voice as hushed as hers still is, "You said so… we're on vacation…" he prods, "How much fun is this vacation going to be with her freaking out and you… you getting sick."

"I'm _not_ sick." She tells him, meets his gaze.

He squeezes her hand, "You know what I mean."

"What I _know _is that this conversation—"

"— needed to happen?" He wonders.

"_No,_" she answers.

"Blair," he frowns lightly, "You're our friend, we just want you to be okay... you can't be mad 'cause of that."

She returns the light frown, "You are being way too… too _logical." _

He nudges her leg with his knee, "I'm just trying to save summer vacation."

And she shakes her head at that, but there's a hint of a smile at her lips. "You know, you keep doing this, it's becoming your _thing._"

"What?"

"Whenever I…" she sighs, nudges him back, "You have everything together right as I lose it."

He gives her a half-smile and lets go of her hand so he can slip his arm around her shoulders, gives her little hug. "Are you kidding me?" He chides, "_You're_ the most together person I've ever known, you're _amazing_…"

She leans into his side, tilts her face up to look at him, "Are you flirting, Nate?" She smirks.

"Not if you're going to _point it out." _He teases.

The smirk turns into a smile, small, but genuine and she lays her head against him. "Tell me how you do it?" She whispers. "How to… keep it together… I know… I know you _love _her."

He twitches reflexively when she says that, knows immediately what she's talking about. He shuts his eyes for a beat, lifts his free hand to rub through his hair, doesn't answer straight away.

Blair continues, "I _know_ you do and she breaks up with you and you… you're here and it's fine, it's _her _who runs," she shakes her head against, "And I…" she looks up, catches his gaze as he opens his eyes, "Show me how to do that."

He holds her soft brown eyes, tries to smile, "I don't know…" he takes a quick deep breath, "… that there's—" He stops, considers and then admits a little sheepishly, "I'm just… going with the flow…"

And she laughs then, lightly, eyes brightening, "That's absurd."

His smile gets easier too, "Yeah."

It's the shared smile and agreement, the warmth of her pressed into his side and his arm slung securely around her, it's the intimate conversation and the silence of the room— just each other, losing it and together and absurdly going with flow.

They kiss with their eyes closed and his free hand lifting to her face; carefully and softly and slowly, and when he smiles against her lips and she smiles back.

"That flow…?" She breathes softly, still smiling.

"Hmh?"

"Where's it… taking you…?"

He leans back just a little, opens his eyes to lock with hers, keeps his arm around her waist as he smiles, "Not here."

"We could be good," she whispers, slides a little closer to him. "You and me."

He tightens his hold a bit. "Uh-huh…?" He teases.

And she laughs into mouth, "Usually are."

He laughs too. "With notable exceptions."

She touches her nose to his, "We'd be _perfect." _

He kisses her lips quickly, "Yeah."

She scrunches her nose at him, "Perfect is supposed to be good."

"We _are_ good…" he teases, slides his hand around to her side, "Not perfect."

She rolls her eyes a little, ruffles the back of his hair, "Who knew perfect and good were mutually exclusive."

"We know," he says, brushes their noses together again and then he wiggles his fingers at her side— tickles her.

_"Nate!" _She squeaks, pushes back away from him, her smile turning into a grin, before she slaps at his hands.

He leans over her, presses her into the cushions and she wiggles backwards, giggling and shoving lightly at his shoulder, "Stop it, stoppp…" she laughs.

He laughs too, "Isn't this _good?" _He jokes.

And she presses a palm into his face, pushes him back. He relents, leans back a little, and she falls still, keeps her hand her on his cheek. She's smiling up at up, a little breathless, when she says wistfully, "Sometimes I wish—" She stops abruptly and her smile turns wry as she rolls her eyes.

But he gets it, he really does. He has to remind himself too, sometimes, "We're terrible," he tells her with a smile, still leaning over her, or at least they get that way, eventually.

"You wouldn't trade me for a building though."

"You might end up kissing your ex though."

"I _wouldn't. _We're _over." _

He stares at her for a beat; he's not really sure he believes that, doesn't think Chuck and Blair will ever be _over. _Maybe they'll be something else, different; but not over.

But they've had enough serious conversation; he waggles his eyebrows at her, smiles, "Do you want to make one of those _if-in-ten-years-pacts _with me?" He teases.

And she huffs, shoves at his shoulder lightly, "You could only _be _so lucky."

He grins at her and she smiles, lowers her lashes a beat later and looks up at him through their dark veil, it's a sweet, coy glance and he laughs before they share another soft kiss.

"Oh."

The quiet exclamation sounds loud in the still room and Nate freezes, lifts his head to look at Serena. She's standing in the doorway, staring at them with widened blue eyes and in a rush he realizes what this _looks _like— he scrambles backwards and Blair obligingly gives him a shove away from her.

"Right, okay… I didn't mean to… interrupt—" Serena murmurs, takes a step back, "I was wondering where you'd gon— but I'll go—"

Nate looks between the girls, clears his throat, "We were just—"

He's going to say _talking _but Serena speaks over him Serena, crosses her arms in front of herself. "I _saw_ what you were doing."

And Blair straightens, shoots him a quick smile he doesn't know how to interpret before she stands from the sofa, "Oh relax," she says lightly, waves a hand carelessly in air, "I can try on old clothes too, can't I?"

Nate pushes up from the sofa too, stands beside it a touch awkwardly. He's not _dating _Serena anymore; he can kiss whoever he wants… _she _kissed whoever she wanted when she _was _dating him— so it's fine… he doesn't have to feel bad, like he did something wrong— because he _hasn't_.

He glances at Serena and then Blair, then back again. Serena is frowning, "Blair…" she says warningly.

"_And_ as I said," Blair continues, stands between him and the blonde, "Just because it fits does not mean it merits re-wearing."

There's silence then and he can't stop looking between them because, "Are you guys talking about clothes?" He wonders.

Blair glances at him with an eyeroll.

Serena keeps her eyes on Blair, "You were trying on old clothes… _why_?"

Blair arcs an eyebrow in Serena's direction, "I need a reason?"

"Yes."

"And here I thought the clothes were _discarded."_

Serena's frown deepens, "That's not— you can't just take—" she huffs, "So?"

"_So_ if they're just lying around, I'm not going to be the only one trying them on, you know? There's an appeal to certain garments tha—"

"You're talking about clothes," Nate breathes, "What— where did that…" he shakes his head, trails off.

"I sent _you _to talk to her," Serena says then, gaze swinging to him.

He puts his hands up, "I did!"

"Not _that _kind of talking, Nate!"

"It wasn't— we were just…" and then he glares, remembers that he didn't do anything _wrong. _He _didn't. _He opens his mouth to tell her so when Blair speaks first.

"It was just a kiss," she says teasingly, walks towards Serena. "Just a little one…"

Serena frowns at her, "Blair—"

"And we did talk." She appeases, nearing Serena.

"You did?" Serena asks, doubtfully.

Blair nods, "Hmh?"

Serena's frown fades away, "And?" She wonders a little hesitatingly.

_"And," _Blair says, hooking her arm through Serena's, "I think… _we _should talk."

Serena shifts into Blair, pulls her a little closer, "Yeah?"

Blair nods, rests her head on Serena's shoulder for a moment, "Yeah."

And Nate blows out a tiny breath of relief just as Blair adds, "If it goes well, I'll give you a kiss too."

It makes Serena huff a laugh and Blair lifts her head, gives the blonde an easy smile. Serena bites her lip and then throws her other arm around Blair's shoulders, pulls her into a hug. There are whispered words between them he doesn't hear, but he doesn't need to— he gives them another moment and then, "How come _I _didn't get a hug?" He wonders, pouts at them.

Serena turns her head and shoots him a wry glance, "You got a _kiss." _

"I want both!"

And Blair laughs, "You're ridiculous."

He grins as he sidles over to them, "You keep saying that."

"It's you're perpetual state."

"It suits him though," Serena offers, eyes flickering to him.

He laughs, says, "Thanks," and he hugs them.

Serena offers him a tiny smile and then hides her face in Blair's hair and Blair rolls her eyes, grips of a fistful of his shirt and presses her cheek into his shoulder.

And a beat later she laughs, "Okay, this is officially a group hug," she declares, "Which were _officially _banned."

They'd taken a vote… such a long time ago; Serena giggles at the memory and he grins and Blair hold still for another breath before pulling free.

* * *

He has dinner alone with Roman that night.

They talk about French shoes, French architecture, French gardens, in French.

It's pretty cool.

* * *

He's outside the next day, in the sun, on his knees in the dirt, digging. The gardeners are back full-force, but he kind of _likes _planting things. He's patting down the earth, getting ready to move a plant into the hole he's dug when he glances up. He's not sure why exactly, but he did and he catches sight of Serena striding towards him.

Her hair's pulled back and her shorts are wonderfully short and her top is nicely snug and he almost smiles at her, but then his gaze reaches her _face. _

And the expression on her face sends shocks of alarm all over him; it barely gives him enough time to stagger to his feet before she's in front of him and slapping at his shoulders, arms, "_Where is he?" _She hisses it at him with enough venom to make him step back, shoulders inching up, arms raised protectively.

"Serena! Ow! Stop it! Who? That hurts! Sto—"

"_Chuck, _Nate!" She growls, stopping her assault to glare at him.

Nate's eyes widen a little, "Oh… she tol—"

"_Where _is he?"

"I don't know!" He squeaks, hands still raised, "I have no clue! He hasn't returned any of my calls or tex—"

Serena swoops down and picks up his mini spade, points it at him angrily and takes a step forward, "I'm going to give you ten seconds to tell me the truth—"

"—that is the truth!"

"Because if I find out you _knew _at any point this summer, where he is, I'm going to give you the same treatment I give him, _do you understand?" _

"I do, okay," he says more softly, reaches out a hand to her, "Give me the spa—"

"Nate!" She demands.

"I don't know!" He shouts back.

She glares at him, snaps, "You _tell _me if you find out," and then whirls around, tosses the spade back into the dirt.

He stares after her, arms still outstretched, eyes wide, and when she finally disappears from his sight, he blows out a breath— _whoa._

* * *

They don't do much of anything for the next several days— there's an easy pattern of sleeping until noon and wandering into the kitchen for coffee together that they fall into— Blair and Nate work on their puzzle on the veranda, Serena tans; Serena and Blair float on inflatable lounge chairs, Nate swims laps, Nate and Serena plant asters and geraniums and sun flowers; Blair reads.

They go into town, sometimes driven, sometimes walking depending on who wins hands/paper/scissors— and how much Blair wants to humor them. There are boutiques to explore and people to chat with; and when they get back to the villa there are movies to watch and puzzles and books and a garden.

It's a calming, relaxing time; good and simple and it's only when Blair slips away for private calls to her Manhattan doctor that anything resembling awkwardness descends between him and Serena.

"That's a… nice color." He offers a little shyly, looking up from the puzzle— that they still haven't managed to finish.

Serena nods, keeps her eyes on her toes. She's sitting on the sofa, her bare feet propped up on the armrest as she coats her toenails with a deep gold.

"Matches your hair," he adds, tries to get a piece to click; it doesn't. He puts it back in the 'dark-dark blue' pile, picks up another. Blair had put each type of piece in a pile, it was his job to put each pile away in a separate baggie whenever they were finished… and to carry the board to wherever they were working… and to put it all back in the den at the end of the day.

"I have sandals the same color too," Serena offers quietly.

"Nice."

It's the kind of mindless conversation that's made up their days lately; and it makes him kind of sad, because their mindless conversations are usually much more fun.

"You two are never going to finish that thing," she says then.

And he looks up, "Huh— oh!" He smiles, "Doubt it, yeah…"

"It looks… impossible." She adds, screws the top back into the bottle of nail polish.

"That's what I keep saying," he agrees, "But Blair says if retiree's in Florida can do this so can we."

She smiles at that, "How many pieces?"

"Five-_thousand." _

"Wow."

He grins, "Yeah."

They fall silent then and this is usually the point where one of them leaves the room; but her toes are drying and he doesn't want to.

"So…" she says, "Sorry."

The two words, said softly with her gaze fixed right onto his, make him start.

She shrugs when he doesn't answer, "For that time… when I yelled at you. I've been… meaning to say it. I shouldn't have."

"Oh…" he nods. "You mean when you waved a potential weapon at me," he teases.

She smiles a little, looks back to her toes, "Yeah."

He watches her. She's a wearing a blue tank top and little jean shorts, hair pulled into a ponytail— looks like so many of his summer memories…

"You want to help?" He asks, motions to the puzzle.

She looks up. "What?"

"The puzzle. You want to help?"

She looks at him solemnly, "Isn't it— that, you two?"

"You can help us," he says on a laugh, "We need all the help we can get."

"I thought maybe…" she trails off.

He smiles, "Thought what?"

"I don't know… that you wanted to do it together." She shrugs.

"We are doing it together," he responds easily.

"Alone."She specifies.

And he blinks, "Oh… why would you think—"

"You were _kissing _her."

"Oh." He remembers that, nods, "Yeah."

"_You _said a kiss means something." She mutters, shifts her eyes back to her toes.

He tenses then; remembers that day at the hospital in a rush. "It does mean something."

"Great. Because really it's the _fourth _time that's a charm—"

She's being sarcastic and he cuts her off, "It means we care about each other, it doesn't mean we're getting back—"

"Oh okay," she says, voice strangely flat, "It only means that when it's me and my ex."

"That's different."

"It's the same." She mumbles, not looking at him, "Blair's your first girlfriend, like he's my firs—"

"Don't do that," he snaps, irritated suddenly, "Don't pretend like it's the same thing. It's _not." _

Her gaze lifts, eyes harder now, "It is. He's—"

"Blair's my friend—"

Serena huffs, "And Dan—"

"— first." He says over her, "She was my friend first."

She sits up straighter, swinging her legs to the floor, "So because you know Blair longer, I can't make the comparison?"

"Yes." He answers; doesn't care if that's wrong or right, because he definitely did _not _sign up to discuss this.

Serena tosses her hair, fixes him with steady blue eyes, "Your _friend? _Please, Nate. I know you guys are overdue for yearly go around…" She snipes, "Because it always ends so well."

"I'm not the one kissed their ex while we were dating."

She shoots to her feet, "No, you're the one that checked out before we even stopped!"

"I— what?" He stands too, gapes at her, "What does that even mean?"

"It means Blair asks you to not tell and I have to _plead _it out of you! I ask you to be on my side and you call the police on my—"

"I _was_ on your side!"

"You have a horrendous way of showing it!"

"What did you want me to do!"

"What _Dan _did!"

She shouts it at him and he flinches, stares at her in startled silence.

And then clenches his jaw, "I'm not Dan." He's not going to apologize for that. He swallows hard, shakes his head, "And your _Dad_ wasn't on your side."

He regrets it as soon as he says it, knows instantly it's a mistake, he needed different words or a different time or both, but it's too late.

She scowls at him, dark and angry, and he wants to explain to her, that he knows about this, about Dad's that aren't on your side, that only pretend, that would rather run away than stand with you— but she lifts her chin and whirls around, flees the room before he can manage anything but a wan, _"Serena…" _

* * *

He can feel Blair's eyes on him across the dinner table that night.

But he chooses to resolutely stare at his chicken instead; until she kicks him in the shin. He jumps, head lifting, and mouth dropping open in a silent _ow. _He leans down to rub at it as she comments on how strange Serena's sudden disappearance is, that the blonde hadn't said she was leaving, hadn't said not to expect her back that night, had only taken off— and wasn't that _odd. _

Nate joins Harold and Roman in nodding and agreeing, noncommittally, that it was odd.

* * *

The next time he sees Serena is over a full day later, on the veranda— she's giggling and holding the hand of a smiling brunette guy, _"This is Marc," _she introduces casually to him and Blair as she leads him away to the garden.

Blair slides a look to him and he decides today would be a great day to ride the bike into town to charm pretty French girls.

* * *

"So what did you say to her?" Blair wonders the day after that.

He keeps his eyes on the puzzle, pretends he doesn't know what she's talking about, "Huh?"

"Serena is going into town and finding boys to play with, without me. Not to mention that she's flaunting them _here, _" Blair offers, "Which means she's upset, because this summer we're all about playing with boys _together_… and since she's leaving me here with _you _it means you are the boy that upset her."

He looks up sharply, "Maybe she upset _me." _

Blair rolls her eyes, "Of course she upset you, she dumped you."

Nate frowns at her, "You're mean."

"You know I'm not even trying," she tells him.

And he has to smile a little at that.

"Tell me."

The smile fades, "Nothing." He focuses intently on the puzzle.

"Right." She says dismissively and then pins dark eyes on his face, "Look, we were getting into a _nice _and _relaxing_ routine— finally. I don't know what happened, she's being mute on the subject, but I was hoping August would be stay nice and relaxing, we have those picnics planned and the sailing trips… " she sighs, ducks her head and catches his gaze, "I'm making an effort because the two of you insisted," she reminds him, "Now I'm insisting with you – and will with her too as soon as she gets in – get along." She leans forward a little, "It can't be that easy for you two _not _to get along… stop this… pouting or whatever it is and just… get along."

He drops his gaze from her face.

"Serena wins the break-up game by default, you know this."

"It's not a game," he says softly, "I'm not playing a game. I'm not doing anything…"

"You did something that set her off on boy-hunting without me."

He's quiet for a moment and then confesses, "I told her, her Dad wasn't on her side."

Blair leans back in her chair, crosses her arms in front of her, "And why would you do that?"

Nate huffs, drops his head forward and runs a hand through his hair, "I don't know. Because he _wasn't _and because… I'm an idiot."

"Hmh, I'll agree."

He lifts his head and looks on her a little pathetically, "I didn't think."

Blair studies him for a moment and then reaches out and pats his cheek. "I'll talk to her, but you'll have to behave better."

She's treating him like a child and he rolls his eyes, but can't help but brighten a little, "You will?"

"After dinner." She nods.

And Nate sighs a little, turns his gaze back to the puzzle. He hopes Blair's insistence works, because she's right, it _is _hard to not get along.

* * *

It's a good plan.

Except Serena brings a boy to dinner; his name is David and he likes to fish. She spends the entire the meal with her elbow on the table, leaning towards him, giggling and nudging his shoulder.

Harold asks polite questions and Roman makes witty observations and Blair frowns disapprovingly— and Nate keeps his eyes averted, does his best to the display that she's putting on with aplomb. Because they're not dating anymore, she wanted it that way and he accepted it and if he still… _feels_ something, that's not—

Their gazes lock for a beat; long enough for him to see anger flicker in hers and then she lifts her chin and turns back to David, offers him a bite of her scallops and lifts her fork to his mouth.

He waits until the plates are cleared and then pushes out of his chair, announces he's not really in the mood for dessert.

* * *

He is so, _so_ drunk, the thought circles dimly through his mind, more drunk than he's been all year maybe… and there're so many steps… step after step, higher and higher, and finally he just stops, is sick of steps and climbing and higher— he doesn't even know where he's going.

"Nate, no… come on, just a couple more…"

It's Serena's voice and he blinks, looks over and sees her, remembers the bar and her hands pulling at him, the way she'd want him to come with her… and he had. He always went with her when she wanted him.

He can't anymore.

"M'sorry," he mumbles, shakes his head. The world spins and he reaches down to the floor, leans on it, lowers himself onto it.

"Just three more," she says and he feels the way she tugs on his other arm. She wants him to come with her.

But he can't anymore. He's tired. He can't keep coming. He peers up at her with bleary eyes, confesses, "I can't…"

There's a whoosh of air and then her face is so close to his, he blinks slowly as her eyes come into focus, realizes vaguely that she's lying on the steps next to him now, that it's kind of dark in the hallway and probably very late.

"You can," she insists and there's a little smile on her lips, her lashes fluttering over blue eyes as she looks at him intently, "We're almost there, come on, I'll help you—"

"_M'sorry…" _he says again, feels tears prickling the back of his eyes, "… you keep breaking my heart."

And she jumps, he feels it, notices then that he has a hand at her waist; he lifts it to touch her face gently, "Over and over and—"

He slides the hand into her hair and she jerks against it, says, "Nate," tightly, trying to shake free.

But he swallows hard, doesn't really hear her. "—over and it hurts and I can't—"

"Stop," she snaps hard and he flinches at the tone; she corrects, "_You _broke_ my _heart_." _

He shakes his head languidly.

And she pulls at his wrists, fingers tight as she takes his hand away from her hair, "Now's not the time to tal—"

_"_I _love_ you," he whispers it, like a secret it's never been.

Their gazes hold and everything's cloudy, spinning, but he sees her eyes, blue, solid; he repeats it, a mantra to go along with his heart beat, "… _love, love, love _you… _so _mu_—"_

_"Stop," _she interrupts him, pleads.

He closes his eyes when he sees the tears in hers, mutters, "_Sorry," _again because that's what he is and shakes his head; the world behind his eyelids lurches and he breathes, "… can't stop," and for the first time, "…would if I could, but—"

There're fingers digging hard into his cheek then, moving his head, their noses pressed together, her forehead tight against his, "Don't_." _

Their lashes bump when he tries to open his eyes; he looks at her through murky slits and admits, "M'_tryin..." _

Tears drip onto his cheeks and they're not his; and then her lips on in his, firm and real and lingering.

He shifts when it ends, slides his forehead away from hers, down her face, into her neck; presses his face into her throat, keeps his eyes shut as he breathes her in.

"Nate…" she whispers it on the hitch of a sob and then she's squeezing him, arms around his middle. It's a hug and his fingers curl around her shirt.

"S'hard…" he tells her, lips moving against her skin, "… don't know 'ow and you… you're so… so _much…" _

She clings to him more tightly, presses her face into his shoulder.

He sighs, flickers his eyes open and finds a cloud of her hair, lets his gaze slide shut again, "How do you—?" He wonders fuzzily, knows he starting to fall asleep, "S'easy for you… how do you…? How… do you… just leave it…" lets himself slip into it, "… show me…" he whispers, going limp in her arms, "_… please." _

* * *

.tbc.


	5. Chapter 5

**DISCLAIMER**: I do not own the characters/plots of "Gossip Girl."

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**: Takes off from the end of 3.21, goes into post 3.22. SBN-centered.

This section is entirely NB, lol. The next section may be entirely NS. ;) Thank you for reading. :]

* * *

He's drifting towards wakefulness, something soft under his head, hard under his arm, uncomfortable lightness bouncing behind his eyelids, creeping under his lashes.

He blinks. And there's a… girl? Dark hair…? Red shirt…? Off the side, floating? That can't be right…

He groans, shuts his eyes tighter.

"Hm, no. I do not think so…"

The words are likely soft, but just _hearing _makes him flinch. It pings inside his brain and makes him groan again.

"Finish waking up this _instant, _Archibald."

_Oh god. _He shrinks back away from the voice, bumps his back against something hard and his eyes open a little when it hurts.

Blair's not floating, he deduces through slitted eyes.

"I'll give you coffee." She entreats.

And his stomach roils at the thought, he closes his eyes and shifts and then, "_Fuck." _His hip and his shin are pressed hard and uncomfortable into— he blinks his eyes open again, "Wha—?" He lifts his head and it swims, he groans, _"Jezus." _and drops it back into the, thankfully, soft surface.

"We're on the steps," Blair informs him, "And you are clearly hung-over."

He's thankful for her explanation. Now he'd like to stop existing.

"And you need to wake-up," Blair continues, "So you can tell me what you _did _to Serena."

He turns his face into the—pillow? And everywhere the steps dig into his arm and leg and his head _hurts…_

"Nate." Blair says his name seriously, shoves at his shoulder and he falls back.

"Leave m'lone." He whimpers and _fuck _this can't be normal…

"Did I not mention that you were on the steps?" Blair continues, voice a little sharp now, "You have to get up, you can't stay here, and _then _you can tell me exactly what you did to make my best friend _cry." _

He blinks his eyes open a little for that one, looks at her through lowered lashes, "What…?"

She gives him a serious look. "She was crying, what did you do?"

"I…" He swallows hard, tries to remember, and the effort just amplifies the _pounding _in his head. He shuts his eyes again, ducks his face down, tries to get away from the light.

"_Nate." _Blair's voice is sharp.

And he cringes, "Blair…" he whispers, "_Please..." _Shut. Up.

There is absolute, heavenly, _blessed _silence then; soft fingers in his hair too, pushing it off his face and tilting his head back, upwards, towards the light and he tries to pull away but the fingers tighten their grip. "How _much_ did you drink last night?" Blair asks him.

He winces, opens his eyes, "I… I dunno, just… lea—"

"It's almost one o'clock." She tells cuts him off, "You've lying here _all _morning."

He blinks, tries to focus his thoughts on what she's saying and not how much like shit he feels. "O… kay…?" He finally manages.

And she scowls at him. "No, _not_ okay, Nate. You made Serena cry."

"I… m'sorry…?"

She huffs. "What did you do? Say?"

"I don't… know…" he tries to remember and all he sees is the bar and Serena's smile, _time to go, _"Bar… she—"

"Yes, I sent her to get you because _I _wasn't going to lose any sleep and clearly you need a keeper and since technically she drove you away, it was her responsibility to see you didn't give yourself alcohol poisoning… which apparently you've come quite close to doing anyhow, and now you've made her cry and I've a mind to leave you both here and vacation _on_ _my own."_

He loses the meaning of those words about midway through, but he's certain she's upset.

"… sorry…?" He repeats hoarsely, wants _water _suddenly.

And the fingers in his hair loosen, smooth through the strands more gently; he ducks his head again, shies away from the light and then he doesn't hear her, not really, because he's falling back asleep— but she says something and moves away and he's grateful.

* * *

The next time he wakes up he knows instinctively the conditions are better—softer, more comfortable— and that he still feels like shit.

It takes a second for it to settle in; and then he feels it. There's throbbing at his temples and his mouth is too dry to swallow until he lifts his head, blinks his eye open; then the room, _his _room he notes hazily, does a sickeningly slow lurch and saliva floods his mouth and he knows he's going to puke.

He shoves off the bed, grappling with the sheets, and staggers to the bathroom; lands on his knees in time to wretch into the bowl. For too long a moment, he can't stop and he when it finally does he slams the lid shut and falls back against the side of the tub, leans against it, exhausted and panting and strangely _hot _suddenly.

He feels gross and thirsty and too hot and the room is still sort of spinning and his head aches and he is _never _going to drink again, ever. Really.

He tries to focus on the room, blinks dazedly; has the slow realization that bathrooms have water. He wants the water. Water goes in bathtubs. He's leaning against a bathtub.

He reaches over, hooks an arm on the rim of the tub, and hauls himself over it so he topples inside it. There might be bruises later— but water _now _is more than an even trade… with the added bonus of not having to get up.

He lies there for a moment, stares up at the ceiling as he tries to figure out what now… he has to turn it on, he remembers, the water— so he does; lifts an arm up and flicks at the shower head switch.

The cold water surprises him, makes him jump; it falls hard like rain and it instantly cools him. He sighs in relief, lowers his arm as he shuts his eyes. And then opens his mouth, catches the drops on his tongue, let's the water drench his skin and hair and clothes.

It sweeps the thirst away and replaces _too hot _with shivers and he's okay with for now; makes the headache fade a little too and feels strangely soothing—the drops thrumming against his skin. He tries to remember how he got here, not the bathtub… the room, maybe… or before that… the steps…

_"Come on, just a couple more…" _

Serena.

He got to the steps with the Serena, he thinks… and before… that, there was… the bar— and… he got to the bar because of Serena. Because… the guy… and the stupid _fishing _stories… and—

"_What _are you doing?"

Blair's voice slices into his thoughts and he jumps, startled, gets a mouthful of water and coughs, turns his head to find— more water?

He starts again, flails a little.

"Are you crazy!"

She's shouting now and he flinches, splashes? He turns his head and coughs some more; keeps his eyes shut and gets another mouthful of water—

"_Nate!" _She screeches his name and suddenly the water stops and her hands are fisted around the front of his shirt, hauling him upwards. "What are you _doing?" _

He opens his eyes slowly, coughs; feels wet and drowsy and shivery— and finds her dark eyes on his face intently. She looks… angry. He licks his lips, they're wet. "I—"

She cuts him off before he can say, _was too hot. _She's glaring at him. "I will _tell _you what you are doing!" She snaps and releases him, stands from beside the bathtub.

He shivers; tilts himself toward the wall until his arm is pressed against it.

"You are lying in a _bathtub _with the showerhead on and your _head covering the drain_ as it fills up with _water." _

By how pissed she is, he's guessing that is bad.

She yanks him back towards her then; shoves a towel in his arms and rubs another at his face, his hair, "I leave you alone for _one hour _and you try to _drown _yourself."

He frowns, did not. "Was too hot…" he finally tells her.

And she pauses, fixes him with a laser hot scowl and then rubs at his hair harder_. _"_Are_ an idiot," she hisses.

He bats her hand away, clutches at the dry towel. He's starting to feel it— the way his clothes are sticking to him, water-logged and heavy.

"Stop it," she says, swats at his hands where he's swiping at hers. And then she's pulling the t-shirt over his head.

"Blair!" He squeaks through the fabric.

A moment later it's gone and he's shivering for real now; feels cold and a little… violated. "What're yo—"

"I _refuse _to get the gardeners again, they are _sweaty, _Nate."

And he's not… he's not coherent enough to follow that; his head still hurts and just because the room hasn't spun in the last few moments, doesn't mean he feels like it _couldn't _spin_. _He swallows hard, "I don't… what does that mean?"

"It means, if you need help getting out of there I will be fetching my _father _to help you." She clarifies a little viciously.

He stares at her, blinks.

"Your clothes is soaked, _heavy_, makes it harder for you get up." She specifies even further; takes the towel he's holding in his wet lap and drapes it over his shoulders.

He follows her movements with his gaze; isn't really certain he's understanding, sort of— but not really.

"I don't even— what made you think this would be a good idea!" She continues, rubbing at his skin with the semi-dry towel.

He looks up at her, "It… wasn't?" He's deduced.

She rolls her eyes, "_No _Nate, it wasn't a good idea to douse yourself, clothes and all, in cold water— nevermind the _drowning _aspect of the whole thing I mentioned already."

He leans his head against her arm, shuts his eyes, "... was gonna get up…" he tells her.

"Oh really?"

Well, probably.

He doesn't say that though.

She's quiet then; and behind his eyelids, everything is dark, still, and he breathes out a sigh, is still a little cold, but drying off is helping the shivers and Blair's arm is comfortable…

She sighs too, runs fingers through his wet hair. "What am I supposed to do with you, huh?" She wonders softly.

He shifts at her voice. "Huh?"

"Yes, exactly." She murmurs and then her arm shifts away and his head lolls momentarily until she puts a hand to his cheek, "Can't have you going around doing _this _and I certainly can't have you going around making Serena cry, so what, hm?"

He opens his eyes slowly, "I… don't, I really… don't know."

"Well, I'm going to start with telling you to think harder; because she's not talking to me about what happened with the two of you— and she's upset."

Blair's looking at him with serious dark eyes, the message clear: _you upset her. _And he tries then, looks away from her, drops his head a little and stares blankly down, remembers the bar and the steps and… hearts…? Breaking…?

… no, no he wouldn't…

He shakes his head and then winces, feels the towel slip from his shoulders a little, "I'm sorry…" he offers quietly, eyes closing.

And she sighs softly, before sliding her hand up his face and into his hair. She tugs at it, lifts his head back up, "You're ridiculous, you know that…?"

He looks at her, isn't sure if he should apologize for that too.

And then she's pushing him back lightly, guiding him backwards until he's leaning against the wall. "Hold still," she tells him.

So he does.

She tugs off his jeans and it's around the time he's stepping out of the tub in just his boxers, one arm wrapped around Blair's shoulders that he notices, "You're wet."

She huffs, "Of _course _I'm wet, Nate."

"Oh."

"Yes." She snips. "You owe me a dress."

She points him in the direction of his bed and he manages to sit on the end as she turns around moves to his dresser. "Okay," he says easily. He could get her a dress. He could totally do that.

"You still have to remember," she responds over her shoulder, rooting through his drawers.

He sighs, lowers his head into his hands.

It's a few seconds later, and she pats the back of his head with surprising gentleness. "Here," she says softly, tilts his head back.

He looks at her a little disoriented— what now?

She puts her hand to his mouth, "Aspirin," she tells him; and he opens it like she wants; she slips the pills into his mouth and then puts a glass of water to his lips.

He drinks; shuts his eyes as the water quenches a thirst he thought had dissipated.

She takes the glass from him when he's had the whole thing and he lowers his head again.

"Clothes," she tells him, drops a bundle beside him on the bed, "Put them on and go back to sleep." She takes a step away from him, towards the door, "And _pray _that you dream of what you did to Serena, because I will be back to ask you."

He doesn't bother lifting his head, just listens to the click of the closing door, and then does exactly as she says.

* * *

When he wakes up again, Blair's already in his room. And on closer inspection, he realizes, he has woken up because she is _shaking_ him. He moans and shifts away, pulls the sheets up higher.

"Two hours is enough," she informs him coolly, "Particularly since Serena is packing."

He pauses.

"Yes," she continues, "Packing her things, because she's leaving."

He blinks, glances at her over the sheet, "Huh?"

"Apparently," Blair enunciates, "Madrid is calling her name…"

And he sighs, still feels the threatening echo of his headache hovering above him. But he lifts a hand and rubs at his face, pushes himself up a little, pulls his focus in. "Blair..."

"Yes, you're hung-over, I get it. You drank an obnoxious amount of alcohol and now your head hurts, tragic."

The sarcasm is enough to make him shrink away from her. He ducks his head a little and she presses on, unrelenting.

"But Serena ispacking_," _she repeats, "After spending all day locked in her room. _After _I found her _crying _on the staircase," she says pointedly. "So you need to tell me what you did or said or _implied _so I know what I'm dealing with."

He swallows hard, "I don't—"

"Think harder!"

"I can't!" And he flinches when he shouts it; his headache coming to life again.

He lowers his head into his hands, wishes hard for Blair to go away, for this whole _day _to go away…

But instead she sits on the bed; and decides to talk about the day.

"Nate," she says with a long suffering patience he knows is easy to crack, "She's going to leave… and I honestly think she has no plans to come back… as in we're finished with this vacation."

He keeps his head down, leans his cheek against his hand, fingers in his hair as he looks over at her. "I don't _know _what I— I can't really remember…"

"But you remember something?"

"Sort of."

"Sort of, _what?" _

He pauses, "Stuff."

"Nate."

"I don't know…" But the thing is— that he kind of does. Sort of. He thinks there's a possibility that he might have mentioned—

"Do you not understand what I'm saying?" Blair snaps then; her patience slipping already.

He sighs, lifts his head slowly. "Look, just… I was gonna go to…" he blinks, where was he— oh, "London. For awhile. So… tell her. I'll go. Tomorrow." He adds, because he needs to sleep some more, "And I'll stay in here unt—"

"_No, _no one is leaving!" She shouts it, eyes flashing, "This is _my _vacation and we are spending it _together _and Serena will _get over it _once I show her how, but I need to know what _it _is so you need to remember!"

"I don't—"

"You just said you remembered stuff!"

"Blair—"

"What stuff?"

"I don't—"

She rolls her eyes, exasperated. "Tell me what you remember…"

He sighs, "I'm not sure—"

"Tell me what you _think _you remem—"

He interrupts, feels the pounding in his head kick up a notch. "It's not—"

"Just tell me!" She shouts.

He shuts his eyes, puts a hand to head. "I can't—"

_"Tell me!" _

"Blair, I—"

"Nate! Would you just try to—"

"That I _love _her okay!" He shouts it back, eyes opening to stare at her, hand dropping to the bed. He glares at her, feels angry and defensive suddenly. It's not like he did something _wrong _for her to be yelling at him.

And she stares back for a long moment before leaning away from him a bit, "Oh."

He rolls his eyes at her— and it hurts his head, but it's worth it. "_Yeah, _okay."

She continues to stare at him for another beat and then sighs. "That was really stupid."

He scowls, feels mutinous. "_Sorry." _

"Nate…" she says more softly.

"Just go tell her," he says quickly before she can continue, his voice even, "That she doesn't have to leave. You two were having fun and—"

"What is wrong with you lately?" She interrupts, voice still soft, but he winces anyhow, looks away from her. "You know her better than this," she continues, "The whole mess with her Dad, that was—"

He huffs, puts a hand to his head as he falls back against the pillows, glares up at the ceiling. "That wasn't _about_ her," he snaps, "It was about _him. _Her Dad's a _criminal." _He clenches his jaw for a moment and then adds, "I'm sorry for that, that it happened. But…" He would do it again.

"There were other ways." Blair says carefully, like she can read his thoughts.

"There's always other ways." He likes the direct ones.

The room is quiet for a moment, long and still, and Nate closes his eyes. He doubts Blair will let him go back to sleep, but the lack of lightwhen he shuts his eyes is nice. It lasts for longer than he would have expected, the room hushed and cool and he relaxes, feels the headache recede.

"You actually said the words…?" She whispers the question wryly, the faintest touch of humor.

And he feels the stirrings of amusement, "I think… more than once."

"Wow, Nate. So is that the secret?" She jokes, "Getting you drunk first?"

He opens his eyes, turns his head to look at her. "I guess so, but I don't think I'll be repeating last night any time soo—" he's midway through the thought when the memory flutters up, _"do you love me?" _and he snaps his mouth shut, eyes widening a little.

Blair's lips quirk up in a slight smile as she murmurs, "It's like reading a large-print kindergarten story."

He doesn't get that; moves on to what he remembers, "You know that night it wasn't really that I didn't— it was—"

"It was a long time ago." She interrupts, shrugging a little, knows exactly what he's referring to, "Doesn't matter at all anymore."

"I know… but it wasn't that I didn—" he cuts himself off, lets his eyes drift back to the ceiling, "It's stupid, but it was like… like saying I loved you right then… it was like saying… I dunno… _yes,_ to… stuff, to… everything. Like I loved everything that was going on right the—"

"Nate. It's… fine. Okay? It was a long time ago. And…" she trails off.

He glances at her, "And what?"

"It kind of… led to," she waves a hand in the air.

"Led to what?" He wonders when she doesn't continue.

She smiles a little, "Things would have turned out… differently, if you'd…" she trails off again.

He's curious. "Bad different?"

She sighs, shifts a little and leans back a bit, against the pillows and headboard, curls her legs underneath. "Just… different," she tells him simply.

He shifts too, so he can keep his eyes on her face. "It seemed really hard."

"Yes," she replies a little tartly, "I suppose loving me is hard."

And he scoffs, nudges her leg with his elbow, "No, not that, that's easy," he gives her a quick smile. Then explains, "Just everything they wanted me to do, what I was supposed to do."

She studies him for a beat, "Not anymore?"

"Not really, I mean…" he shrugs one shoulder, "What else would I do?"

She's quiet when she says, "You could do other things."

He smiles a little, "Maybe I don't want to anymore." Maybe he's figured out what he'd have to let go of to do anything else.

"Grandfather must be so excited." She teases.

And his smile widens a little, "It's my _secret," _he tells her.

She puts a hand to her chest, "And you're telling _me." _

She's still teasing him, looks comfortable leaning against his pillows, and he grins at her, "Yep," and then shifts over, loops his arm around her waist and pulls her further into the bed in for a hug, his face pressed against the fabric of her dress.

"Nate!" She squeaks, voice lilting towards laughter as she shoves at his shoulder, "You're wrinkling me! And hung-over! Get off!"

He lifts his head, chin digging into her, "But I _showered." _He grins.

"Yes, I know!" She swats at his arm hard, "I had to change thanks to your _shower." _

And he laughs lowly, drops his head onto her stomach, breathes a soft, "Thank you."

She pushes at his shoulders for another moment and then gives up, relaxes against the pillows. "You're impossible."

"And ridiculous," he reminds her, drapes his arm her around so that he's using her as a pillow.

"Comfortable?" She asks dryly.

He nods against her, shuts his eyes. "Yeah."

She yanks hard on a chunk of his hair, "Glad to hear it."

"Blair," he says sadly, "Ouch."

She laughs a little and then starts to play with his hair. Soft fingers picking through the strands lightly, smoothing it in one direction and then the other—and he starts to fall asleep.

Until she whispers, "It won't help at all."

He tugs himself back towards wakefulness, blinks. "What won't help?"

"Telling her you're sorry," Blair responds easily, "Being sorry for loving her won't help matters at all."

He pushes up, wants to look at her— and she shoves his head back down to her stomach. "Hold still."

_Wha— _"What are you doing?" He wonders, a little alarmed suddenly.

"Nothing." She answers promptly.

But he knows then, _knows. _"You're braiding my hair!" He accuses.

"You're using me as a pillow." She shoots back.

And he holds still, sighs before shutting his eyes again. He's quiet for a beat and then, "What if it's true?"

Her fingers stall for a breath and then continue their rhythm. "Is it?"

"No… ye— I don't know," he admits, "Sometimes… maybe."

She's quiet and then laughs, soft and kind of sad. "This is such… a mess… everything. We should be having group sessions daily or something..."

He smiles faintly, feels a little sad too. "Yeah…" he agrees and then sighs, "I shouldn't have come."

"I shouldn't have called you."

"I shouldn't have gotten drunk."

"Hm, I'll agree to that. You still owe me a dress."

"It was just water."

She pulls his hair.

"Ow, okay, okay…" he pokes her in the side lightly, "Tell her I'll leave and—"

"I'm not telling her anything." Blair says firmly, "_You _tell her."

And he tenses, goes to sit up again and again she pushes his head down, "Hold _still." _

"Blair—"

"I've decided." She says regally, "My involvement won't help with a permanent resolution. You need to talk to her. And I recommend now since her flight leaves at 7 tonight… which means she'll be leaving here in…" he can feel her checking her watch, "Forty minutes."

Nate licks his lips, "I can't just… _talk _to her."

"Why not? You went around just telling her you love her."

"That's not a bad thing!" He snaps; scrunching his eyes shut. It's _not. _

"It's a one-thousand-percent-guaranteed-to-send-her-running-for-the-hills _thing_. You know that."

"I was _drunk." _He defends.

"And now you're not. So you can fix this," she pats his head, "Because tomorrow, we are going on a picnic— the three of us." She pushes at his shoulders, "All done."

He sits up, hand going to his head, feeling the back of his hair. There are distinct little braids there and he frowns at Blair.

She arcs an eyebrow at him and shifts towards the edge of the bed. "Please take a proper shower and change into something you haven't slept in," she tells him, stands and smoothes out her dress, "And comb your hair. Be polite. Don't apologize for loving her, _do _apologize for upsetting her, and do _not _repeat those three words. Most certainly do not shout and if you make her cry again I'm afraid your trip to London won't be made with an entirely sound body."

She gives him a sunny smile before leaving his room and Nate stares after her, the frown still on his face— he can't quite undo the stupid braids.

* * *

.tbc.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer**: No copyright infringement intended.

* * *

Nate sort of stalls going to see Serena.

He shouldn't, because he doesn't have that much time to begin with; but he finally puts together his magical appearance in his room from the steps and Blair's gardeners-are-sweaty comment…

So he takes the long to her room— which is to say he goes outside to say thanks to Jean and Max, nods along and smiles to their teasing; stands out in the sun for a bit, asks what they're working on and if he can do anything to help later…

It's not because he's nervous about talking to her. It's not. It's because they're nice to him and he likes the sun… even if hurts his eyes at this particular moment in his life.

And when they tell him they have to get back to work, he nods easily, lets them get to it; and only walks back to the house very slowly because he's still feeling a kind of hung over—not because he's nervous.

* * *

So far, Nate thinks as he stands outside of Serena's bedroom door, he's done a really great job of following Blair's directions— there's a bit of his hair that's knotted at the back _because she braided it _and since his head still kind of aches he didn't feel like pulling at it… so he didn't comb it back there.

But otherwise he's showered and dressed and here, so— so far so good. The hallway is quiet, empty. Blair's gone to sit by the pool and her Dad and Roman are somewhere in town.

It's just him… and Serena upstairs and he takes a deep breath, knocks.

She does not answer.

He counts to eleven and knocks again, a little harder, a tiny bit more insistent.

He's at nine when the door swings open. _"Blair, _I do no—"

Serena's mouth snaps shut, eyes widening when she sees him. And he stares too— just because her hair's in a ponytail and some of it's slipping out around her face, because she's not wearing makeup and her lips are pressed together tightly, because she's wearing a yellow tank-top and her eyes are so blue...

They're looking at each other in silence when she takes a step back, looks away from his face, "Na— wha— Blair said you wer—"

"She said you were leaving," he cuts in, straight to the point as he takes a step towards her, "And I—"

"Yeah I'm bored, okay," she interrupts defensively, stares at a spot on the floor beyond him, "And we spent enough time in Paris that I don't want to go ba—"

"You shouldn't go. Don't go." The words slide off his tongue with bitterly familiarity.

And she shrinks back the tiniest bit, hears their echo too. She shakes her head, lifts a hand as if to ward him off, "You can't be here, it—"

He opens his mouth to speak, but she shakes her head again and then she slams the door shut.

He jumps, surprised at the abrupt gesture. And then he stares at it… because she just— she shut the door. In his face.

"Serena," he calls her name, still staring at the door.

"Go away!"

It sounds muffled through the barrier, but he knows she shouted it. And he sighs, "Open the door!"

"No! You're not— you can't—!" She's quiet and then, "You're supposed to be asleep! Hung-over! Blair said!"

"I _am _hung-over!"

"Then go sleep!"

"You're _leaving!" _

"So what?"

"So I don't want you to!"

"So _what?" _

"Last nig—"

"I'm not leaving because of—"

"Then why else—"

"I told you! I'm bored!"

And he scowls at the door, pounds on it, "Open the door!"

"No!"

"Serena!"

"You ruined everything!"

"Wha—"

"_Again_!"

And his breath catches, he stares at the door. The shouting is making his head ache a little more and he doesn't know what to say to that— or at least not what to shout out.

So he repeats, "Open the door!"

And she repeats, "No!"

He stares at it for another beat and then sighs, leans forward, touches his forehead to the wood and shuts his eyes.

"I'm not leaving." He says loudly, calmly after a very long moment, "You have to open this door sometime."

Total silence is his response; long and empty and he shifts his head, presses his ear to the door, tries to hear inside.

"This is a third floor."

The words are loud too, not shouted either— and coming from below him, like she's sitting on the floor.

"That's not fair." She continues.

And he slides to the floor too, legs stretched out in front of him and shoulder against the doorjamb. "You making me talk loud when my head hurts isn't fair either."

"Then go away."

"I can't."

"_Nate_." It's a plea.

And so is this, "_Open the door._"

It's a breath later and she does, the tiniest crack, he can see the fabric of her shorts, how her legs are blocking the door.

"There. Go away now." She says quietly.

He nudges the door a little, "Serena… just… let me in, we— we should talk and— just…" He pushes it lightly again.

"No." She nudges the door back at him, keeps her legs blocking it; keeps herself positioned away from the opened slit, so he can't see her.

"Last night—"

"Showed we can't— we can't do this; we can't do this anymore, we can't be together and friends without—" she sounds like she's going to cry, "And… just…" she exhales sharply, "Go away…"

She moves to shut the door again.

And he bumps his knee against it, stops it from closing; so that now the door is held in place between them, pressed against him on one side and her on the other.

"Na—"

"Yeah, okay," he whispers tightly, interrupts her, "That's what I… what I'm here to— I'll go. You stay and I'll go."

A pause and then, "What?"

"Stay here, with Blair, okay?" And he knows that technically Blair insists on a picnic tomorrow, all three of them. But that was before Serena took one look at him and shut the door.

"No… you can't," she whispers too, sounds sad.

And he tries again; pushes at the door a little bit, wants to see her. "Serena…"

Her legs hold it in place, it doesn't open; but he sees through the crack how her hand lifts towards her face, "You can't do that…" she breathes, "I'm the one who— wants to leave."

Nate rubs at his hair and then leans his head back against the wall with a thud, doesn't wince when it hurts. "This was _your _vacation with Blair… and I'm the one who ruined it." He repeats her words back to her.

"I didn't—" she stops herself off, blows out a breath and then, "I didn't mean it like that…" so quiet he barely hears it.

He shuts his eyes. "I don't know what you mean," he admits and it hurts to say it, because Blair's right – he's supposed to _know _Serena. But he's lost the key somehow and now the signs don't make any sense.

She doesn't respond, so he continues.

"Last night I… it doesn't have to…" he trails off, rubs at his hair again. "Why— why does anyone have to leave?" He wonders quietly, hesitantly, "Why can't we both stay?" _Please. _

She doesn't answer that either, but he hears the soft, hitching breaths she's taking and winces, murmurs, "Don't cry."

"Don't _talk." _She snaps back.

He sighs, "Say you'll stay."

"I can't."

"I'll—"

"Stop talking!"

He lifts his head, she's sounding _upset _now. More upset. "Serena—"

"What _is_ it with you having to _say _things suddenly!" She demands angrily, but there's a thread of something else in her voice, something shaking.

And his mouth goes dry.

"Why can't you just _not _talk? Not tell me things! Not go around reminding me that I break hearts and that you—"

The hallway plunges into silence when she stops abruptly and he freezes, is still staring into the crack of the door, watching her hands move as she talks, still as she doesn't, lift to her face as she cries.

Blair had told him not to make her cry; given him a list of pretty simple instructions and he'd already messed one up.

He swallows hard, might as well mess them all then.

"I'm sorry," he tells her softly, reaches through the crack in the door and touches fingertips to her leg; she flinches. "I'm sorry about last night, about what I said… I know that it's not what you want to hear right no—"

"You don't know _anything." _She counters, "You _don't._ You… you broke my heart _first. _You don't get to— to say that to me."

"That I love you?"

"No! Not that— and stop _saying _it!"

"It's not _news!" _He snaps back, frustrated suddenly. He pushes at the door, "Let me in."

"No!" She shoves back. "Go away."

"No!" He growls.

"I only keep breaking your heart because you keep breaking mine!"

He gapes. "You're the one that leaves!"

"Because I have to! Because it's the only way to keep us together at al—"

"You _don't_ have to!" He argues, "You could stay and we could try—"

"We _did_ try! And now we're broken-up and we're _staying _that way and you can't just… just tell me things whenever you feel like it…!" She's still shouting, but she's losing steam now, "We can't be… we can't be together and friends if you just… _say _everything…" she chides, "Things _change _when you say—" she stops.

But he thinks he's understanding her a little, what she's saying. "Things change…" he starts carefully, "When I say that I lov—"

She huffs, "_Yes. _So stop—_" _

"Serena," he cuts in, tugs on her shorts through the crack in the door, "I'm sorry that I... I said that and you— I know we're broken up and I said it and it upset you… but, it's not—"

She shifts away from his touch and he pushes the door open a little more. She halts it with her hand.

"It's not news," he repeats more quietly this time, "I've… always loved you, it doesn't change—"

"It does! When you say it, every time you say it, it—"

"Serena." He says her name seriously, firmly, sets his jaw; is _tired _of this suddenly. As if she didn't know, like she hasn't always known how much he—

She stops talking; is quiet, waiting for him to continue. He doesn't, he waits too, doesn't add anything more until after she's breathed out a shuddery breath and asked, "_What?_"

He takes a deep breath and says it simply, "I love you."

She breathes in sharply and he feels her lean against the door more heavily, "Na—"

"Let me in."

Her response is fast. "_No…" _

And he feels his lips quirk upwards in a sad smile, "See, nothing changed."

Her breath is a stifled sob then, "_Stop _it…" she mumbles a little desperately.

He pushes at the door, wraps his hand around the edge of it, shifts so he's sitting on his knees and slips his other hand through the opening too. He touches her knee, her shorts, slides it up to her lap until he can find one of her hands and she… lets him.

"Come here…" he whispers, squeezes her hand gently.

"We don't _work._"

"Okay." He doesn't argue it; pushes the door a little more, the opening widens.

"I mean it. We… hurt each other and it's not supposed to… it shouldn't… you and me we're not supposed to _hurt…" _

He nudges it a little more, watches her shift away from it little as he says, "Okay," again.

"I didn't mean to do it, to hurt you, but…"

"I hurt you too…" he finishes for her when she trails off.

"Yeah," she responds, voice hushed, "And you… you love me and I…"

"You love me too," he picks up for her again. He knows, she told him so.

"Yeah," she agrees, voice small.

He pulls her a little, pushes at the door simultaneously— and she moves; shifts so that the door opens.

And then they're face to face, her with her tear streaked face and him with her hand in his.

"You leaving…" he says carefully.

She looks away, but doesn't pull her hand out of his.

He licks his lips, starts over, "Going away it isn't going to make it stop..." He shrugs a little,"It's not… that easy." He pushes past the sudden tightening in his throat, "I can't just stop it, but I'll try to—"

"You're not the only that has to try," she whispers, still not looking at him.

And his breath leaves in a rush; he squeezes her hand reflexively, but she doesn't look up, won't meet his gaze and he wants to ask her why. Why they have to try, why they have stop being in love.

But she looks up then, blue eyes distressed and somber and he can only watch her as she brushes the back of her free hand over her cheeks, "I don't…" she blows out a breath, "I don't know what to do."

He swallows hard, feels kind of like crying too all of a sudden… because it shouldn't be this hard. It shouldn't be hard at _all_; she's making it hard. And he has nothing new to say, has really had only one thing to say all along, "Stay."

It flashes over her face so fast he almost misses it, _fear_ and he scoots forward, tugs her towards him a little, says, "It's okay…" automatically.

She slides to him easily and it surprises him a little, the way she just presses her face into his chest, no words or reluctance. His arms go around her and he places a kiss to the top of her head.

"I just… I want you to… to be my friend." She murmurs it against his chest.

And he shuts his eyes, lays his cheek against her hair, "I'm alwaysyour friend."

It's the truth and he thinks that's maybe the thing that's going to save them.

She doesn't reply; they hold still, hugging on the floor, in doorway to her room. And when she grips his shirt between her hands tightly, he tightens his hold on her a little; remembers this vaguely, that this happened already— they did this… on the steps? Hugging and… kissing?

He pulls back a little, is going to ask her about it; but she clings tighter, doesn't let him go and he's smoothing her back gently when she wonders very quietly, "Are you really trying to not love me?"

Nate tenses all over; feels sort of sick at the question, at this whole conversation suddenly— because he can't remember when he started loving her and knows that's maybe not a good thing; because he is trying to stop, but he isn't; because he doesn't think he can stop, but maybe he should, because he wishes he didn't have to try and doesn't _really_ get why he does. He doesn't know how _I love you _got so messy.

"Isn't that… what you… what you want?" He finally prods; needs to hear what she says.

She's quiet, feels warm against him, and he thinks _say no, say no, say no, _over and over again.

Until she says, "Ye—yes… it— it is…"

And he doesn't think about it, won't, just gives her what she wants. "Then… ye—yeah…? Okay…" He doesn't mean to make it a question.

And she doesn't respond for a long time; when she finally says, "O—okay, good then..." it sounds strangled, pained, and he wonders what the point of lying to each other like this is… when it hurts and its obvious and it doesn't make sense… why he's going along with it in the first place, why he doesn't just tell her they can't pretend—

"I'll stay…" she adds, "Let's stay."

And then he remembers, that's why.

They stay like that for a long time; on the floor, holding each other— maybe longer than is appropriate for whatever it is they are now. He doesn't know.

He knows that she shifts first, leans back slowly; and that he lets her. He knows that she's not crying anymore, not looking fearful; knows that she looks at him with clear blue eyes and a slightly hesitant expression, knows that when bites her bottom lip like that and shifts her gaze around his face she's unsure of what now too.

So he takes both her hands in his and figures anyplace is a good place to start. "I'll help you unpack?" He offers, stands and pulls her to her feet.

She's barefoot, toes painted yellow like her shirt and he can't help it, he leans forward and puts a kiss on her forehead.

She doesn't seem to mind so much, holds still for it. And then turns around, into her room.

She stands at the center, silently.

And he spots the suitcase, packed and sitting neatly by her bed.

He goes to it and unzips it and in one easy move, lifts it up and spills its contents onto her bed.

"Hey!" She cries, hopping over to him. There's a flood of colorful tops and dresses pouring on her bed and she stands by him and watches it, brigs a hand to her mouth, "It took me a long time to pack that," she says through her fingers.

He digs out the flip-flops from the bottom, chucks them on top of the pile, "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah… like twenty minutes…" She sits on the bed, leans back on the pile, looks up at him.

"No kidding?" He drops the suitcase on the floor.

"Maybe twenty-_five." _

He picks up a few shirts and tosses them at her head, "Such a hard worker…!" The teasing slips out, a strange brand of easy awkwardness.

And she laughs a little, softly, not entirely herself yet and he smiles back kind of shyly, not entirely sure it's okay either.

And then she tosses clothes at his head— it hits him in the face, but he dodges the second toss. She giggles, backs up on the bed and throws more clothes.

He gets hit in the face and shoulders with her blouses and a dress and a bra and he the laughter drifts out of him, loosens something inside him. He lunges for the pile of clothes, lands on her bed with enough force to jostle it and she squeaks, "Stop it!" When he throws one of her pillows in her direction.

And he cries, "You first!"

They hurl clothes and pillows at each other from opposite ends of the bed. One of her flip-flops catches him in the cheek and he shouts, "Time out! Wounded!" And she falls to the side laughing, throws a skirt at him half-heartedly.

He has a handful of her lacey underwear in his hand when she shouts, "You can't touch those!"

And he's laughing, "Too late!" Tosses them at her with fanfare and gets a beaded sandal hurled at his head for the effort.

He ducks.

By the time they finally run out of stuff to toss, they're weak with laughter, stretched out horizontally on her bed, across from each other and smiling.

And he stares at her, her smile… it's wide and genuine and in love with him, he _knows _it—

But he's getting this now. She loves him but she wishes she didn't and it's okay as long as he doesn't say it. It's like before again— where he was allowed to love her only if he never mentioned it.

And he's not entirely sure he's okay with that, like he isn't sure not remembering _when _is good— but right now, basking in that smile, when her leg lifts up and her toes poke him in the stomach, and she giggles, "You have to clean my room…"

He knows it's what he'll do. For now at least.

* * *

.tbc.


End file.
